Breakdown
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: UPDATED NOVEMBER 20TH! Gin is missing and turns up in an emotionally and mentally damaged condition. As Vodka tries to help him recover, he also tries to piece together exactly what happened to Gin while he was gone.
1. Prologue

**Detective Conan**

**Breakdown**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters aren't mine (except Dr. Portman and her lackeys, and Chardonnay and Sake), and the story is! SN and Rae must both be credited for giving me the idea for this one. I haven't used my Dr. Portman character in a while, and I decided that now would be a good time. This is going to be a very difficult story for me to write, but I'm willing to give it a good try. Thanks to Breaking Benjamin for the title of the story and of the chapters.  
**

**Prologue**

The room was dark, with only the light from the doorway entering it. Vodka surveyed the interior grimly, not surprised at the sight of the various instruments on tables and the blood on the floor and walls. On the surface it just looked like any other interrogation room---with "interrogation" being used lightly. But it had been someone quite different than any of the Black Organization's operatives who had used this place. It had been someone who had wanted to learn the secrets of the human mind, Vodka had been told, and she and her lackeys had taken it to extremes. When the Black Organization had raided the base, they had found several people who had been missing for weeks and months in varying states of health and sanity. Now Vodka had gone on ahead, wanting to finish the examination on his own and to see if there were any others. Some people were still missing, and he still wondered if it was at all possible . . .

He abandoned that thought and came to attention, hearing wild breathing somewhere in the room. Someone was there, but he could not see anyone around. Keeping his gun drawn, and turning on the small flashlight he had with him, he silently and stealthily entered. Many of the victims that had been found had been driven mad to the point of violence. There could be another such person here, ready and waiting to lunge at Vodka if he was not careful.

The area still looked deserted as he cast his gaze about. If he could not hear the frantic breathing, he would be certain that there was not anyone there. He checked under the tables, not wanting a hand to suddenly reach out and grab hold of him as he went past. But the tables were empty underneath, save for other splashes of blood.

As he advanced further into the room, he determined that the other occupant was in the far corner. Holding his gun and the flashlight out in front of him, he walked forward until he reached the part of the room least affected by the light. Yes, the breathing was louder here. As he shined the beam around, it suddenly landed on deep blonde hair and wild, alarmed green eyes. He fell back in stunned shock.

Gin was sitting on the floor in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest as he tightly clutched a knife in his left hand. The clothing he was wearing---a pair of black pants---was torn in places, and his skin was raw and red. Blood was running down his left arm, and as Vodka stared at him in disbelief, he wondered if Gin had been cutting himself. But he dismissed that idea when he noticed part of a welt on the other's shoulder, and another on his chest. Gin had been taken and tortured. That was what had happened to him when he had vanished several weeks earlier.

Suddenly not certain how to handle this, Vodka bent down in front of Gin and swallowed hard. He knew he needed to say something, but his mind was a blank. Gin was looking at him, or was it more that Gin was looking _through_ him? Vodka did not know if the blonde could actually see him at all. "Bro? . . ." he said finally, barely above a whisper.

Gin gripped the knife tighter, his hand shaking. He did not speak or give any indication that he had heard the other. His gaze darted about the room, as if he expected something to abruptly and magically appear to challenge him.

Taking a chance, Vodka set the flashlight aside and reached out, laying a hand on Gin's uninjured shoulder in an attempt to get him to come to attention. "Bro!" he exclaimed louder, unintentionally giving his voice an edge. He wanted Gin to look at him and recognize him and to be normal. He did not know how to handle the green-eyed man in his current state.

Instantly Gin came to life at the contact and lashed out, slashing Vodka's arm with the knife. The heavyset man cried out in pain, jerking away from him and dropping the gun as he clapped his right hand over the injury. Blood oozed between his fingers and he watched it as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. When he looked back at Gin, he saw that the blonde had slumped back against the wall with the blade, not seeming to care as crimson trails dripped from it onto the floor.

His mind racing wildly, Vodka tried to think how to solve this. It did not even appear possible to get through to Gin. Whatever he had gone through had made him overly paranoid and detached from reality. Vodka knew that Gin would have clung to sanity as long as he could, and he hated to think of what would have had to happen to cause Gin to finally snap.

"Bro . . . don't you recognize me? Just put the knife down," he pleaded, searching through the green eyes for any sign that Gin had not completely lost his mind. Vodka was not a socially skilled person, and even though he felt more relaxed around Gin than anyone else he knew, he did not know what to say or how to react to Gin's shellshocked behavior. Perhaps, since Vodka had known Gin for so many years, it was more difficult to handle this situation than it would be if someone else, whom Vodka did not know, was the victim. He could detach himself from the problem if that were the case. But when it was Gin he could not do that even if he tried. He kept thinking of how the blonde usually was and then comparing it to the tormented man in front of him. It did not seem possible that this was the same person he had worked with for close to ten years now.

Gin looked at him wildly, not letting go of the weapon and apparently not planning to do so. But at least now Vodka had the feeling that Gin did see him. That was an improvement . . . though he was not certain at all whether Gin remembered him. His eyes did not hold any recollection of the other.

Vodka mulled it over in his mind again, trying to think of something to say that might get through to the crazed blonde. "You can get out of here now," he tried at last. "Just set down the knife and we'll go." If Gin had not been holding the knife, Vodka would have simply attempted to help him stand. But as long as he had the weapon, Vodka felt that it was hopeless. Gin would only attack him again.

Gin watched him, his emerald eyes piercing through the unruly bangs, and looked ready to jab the blade at him again. He moved as if to do so, and Vodka moved further away, not wanting to be stabbed a second time. The shorter man's heart raced wildly, and he was tempted to grab his gun again, but he knew that would only make Gin all the more excitable. So instead they just stared at each other for an unknown length of time.

Then Gin blinked, as if trying to focus. The frenzied look vanished from his eyes, being replaced by the emotionless mask Vodka knew so well. His deathgrip on the weapon loosened and he lowered the hand that held it. "Vodka . . ." he muttered, letting the knife clatter to the floor. "They told me you were dead."

Vodka was startled, but he pushed back the questions he wanted to ask. "Well . . . I'm not," he answered lamely. "Let's get out of here, bro. . . ." Slowly he took hold of his gun and replaced it in its holster, then reached to help Gin up.

Gin ignored him and grabbed the wall, using it to balance himself as he struggled to get his footing. Instead he ended up stumbling forward and crashing into Vodka, and he cursed in frustration, feeling his vision swim. He was not well enough to stand after what he had been through, and he knew it, though he did not want to acknowledge it.

Feeling uncomfortable, Vodka tried to steady his comrade. Without meaning to, he touched several of the welts on Gin's back, and he felt the blonde stiffen in pain. He flushed, angry at himself for not being more careful. "Sorry, bro. . . . What happened to you?" he murmured as he moved his hand, not realizing at first that he had spoken aloud.

Gin grunted in reply, not intending or wanting to answer. Instead he moved forward shakily, determined to get out of this room without Vodka's help. He nearly lost his balance several times and was caught by the other, much to his mortification. But Vodka was patient and did not say anything about it, and Gin was grateful.

------------------------------------

Vodka idly watched as the doctor finished stitching and bandaging his arm, but his mind was elsewhere. He was concerned about Gin, who had been quiet all the way back to the base, save for once when he had asked if Vodka's arm had been badly cut. He seemed to have no remembrance of being the one who had actually inflicted the injury, and Vodka had told him that it was nothing, that it would quickly heal. And Gin had slipped back into an eerie silence, gazing off into the distance at nothing that was visible to his partner.

Gin's injuries would not quickly heal, Vodka knew that much. He had been damaged physically, but more so emotionally and mentally, and that was much worse. Vodka had hated to leave Gin to go with some of the other medics, but they had been insistent that Vodka get his arm taken care of before coming back to be with Gin. Vodka just hoped that Gin would not suddenly fall into another fit of madness. He was not even sure if Gin really realized what was happening. He had been so extremely taciturn and withdrawn by the time Vodka had left him. . . .

"You could have knocked me over with a feather when you came in with your partner," the doctor remarked, dragging Vodka back to the current situation. "Most of us thought he was dead, but you never seemed to give up hope. I guess it paid off." He cut off the gauze and taped it down, indicating that he was through.

Vodka pushed himself off the counter and to the floor with a sigh. "But you saw, didn't you?" he said quietly. "You saw what they did to him. . . ." He shuddered inadvertently as he thought of it again---the deep welts in the blonde's back, the blood running down his arm, the way he could hardly stand. . . . And his eyes, his haunted, glassy eyes. By the time they had gotten to the infirmary wing, Gin's eyes had clouded over with a blank apathy, not the same as how they had looked when he had finally recognized Vodka, and also not the same as the panic-stricken and wild eyes from when Vodka had first found him.

"Yes . . ." the doctor nodded grimly. "I'm very concerned. His physical wounds will heal easily enough. He's young and strong, and notorious for his endurance, as you well know. But . . ." Here he sighed, and Vodka tensed. "Mentally, he's been crippled. I could see it in his eyes, and I'm sure you could, too. It's going to be a long struggle, to get him back to how he was before." He gave the heavyset man a firm and serious look. "He's going to need you, more than he'll ever admit." Of course, Gin would never admit to needing anyone at all. He was too proud.

Vodka swallowed hard, staring at the physician as if he had sprouted wings. He did not know how to help Gin. The blonde would never ask for help, and he would refuse it if it was offered. He was building an even tighter wall around himself than he had been before. Vodka had sensed that ever since they had headed for the infirmary.

The doctor smiled gently, seeing all of this in Vodka's expression. He was an older man, and wise, and though he hated being involved in the Black Organization, he had become fond of many of the agents. They were not all bad, as he had observed many a time. Vodka was one of his personal favorites. He was easy to talk to, because he was actually willing to listen. So many of the operatives, Gin included, were very cold and stubborn, believing that they knew everything. Vodka was more willing than some to consider that the doctors knew what they were talking about at least some of the time.

"It's true," he spoke now, "Gin is withdrawing into himself. He's been very badly shaken. He's going to have to learn to trust again." He held up a finger when he saw Vodka about to protest. "I know, you're trained to not trust. But we both know that a certain amount of trust is necessary between partners. Otherwise, how they can possibly function without disorder? Each has to be willing to believe that the other will catch them if they fall, literally and figuratively." He laid a hand on Vodka's shoulder. "Gin's falling now, into a tangled thornbush of confusion and madness. There are only two living people who are capable of saving him. One is the woman he loves, his childhood friend. The other is his partner, the one he has been close to for nearly ten years, the one he has trusted with his life." He paused. "And the first of those people is no longer a possibility, which leaves you."

Vodka nodded slowly, feeling dazed. He turned to go, pushing open the door. He would go find Gin now. But he dreaded the state the blonde would be in when he arrived. And he still did not know how anything he did would be able to help. If Gin could not pull himself out of his inner turmoil, by himself, then Vodka honestly wondered if it could be done at all.

------------------------------------

Gin was sitting on the bed when Vodka found his room and went inside. He was leaning forward, his outrageously long hair sweeping around his face and hanging down in front of him. A nurse was tending to the welts on his back, shaking her head grimly as she dabbed on some sort of ointment. Gin barely paid any heed, though the substance was supposed to sting.

"I can't believe what they've done to him," the nurse remarked quietly as she looked up and saw Vodka coming in. "Just look at this!" She indicated his raw flesh, and Vodka soon had to look away. He could watch lots of gruesome scenes and it did not bother him, but this was his partner. That was much different from observing a stranger or a traitor being injured. He could not bear to see Gin in such a condition. It made him too uncomfortable, and it almost seemed surreal.

"It would've taken a lot to even subdue him enough to do this," she said, still in a low tone. "There must have been so many men. . . ."

Vodka did not want to think about it. He bent down, trying to look into Gin's eyes, but they were completely hidden by his bangs again. "How are you feeling, bro?" he asked, hesitantly.

Gin grunted, but did not answer. After a moment he looked up, the blonde locks falling away from his eyes just enough for Vodka to see that they still looked apathetic and listless. "Are you even here this time?" he mumbled.

Vodka started, feeling bewildered. "Of course, bro," he exclaimed.

Gin gave a half-hearted shrug. "You've talked to me before," he answered flatly. "But usually it's after I've been left bleeding on the floor." He looked down at his hand, and in his mind, he saw blood dripping from it to pool on the floor. He clenched his fist and let it drop. He was speaking so candidly because he believed that once again he was conversing with something that was not there. Now his tone turned world-weary. "This is probably all in my mind, just like all the other times. You'll leave me where I am, just as you've been doing." And then he would soon come back to reality and find himself with the unwelcome Dr. Portman once again, and she would smile and laugh and find it all very amusing, while he would glower at her with hatred over what she was doing to him.

Vodka stared at him, aghast. "Bro . . ." He sat down next to him in a chair, trying to figure out how to respond to that. Gin had been tortured to the point that he did not even believe this was really happening. Perhaps for a moment he had allowed himself to hope, but then he had slipped back into his catatonic state, deciding that it was a hallucination and that he should not even try to pretend it was real. "I'm not going to leave you," Vodka said finally, feeling all the more helpless.

Gin allowed himself a half-smirk. "Heh . . . you've said that before, too. Every time it's the same thing---you come, you talk to me . . . sometimes you say that you'll help me get out of here, but then we never go anywhere. We can't, since you're not here in the first place. And I'm too weak to even be able to get out. It's pathetic." He leaned back, studying Vodka again now. "This time, though, we actually did get out, so I started to wonder . . ."

Vodka could not stand it. "Stop it, bro!" he cried, grabbing at Gin's shoulder. "Stop it! I'm really here. You're really here. You're safe now! Don't you understand? You're not with Portman now. You're safe. . . ." He trailed off, swallowing hard.

Gin blinked at him for a moment, as if trying to digest what was being said. Then, to Vodka's utter astonishment, the blonde started to chuckle. It was a deep, low sound, and it was eerie coming from Gin under these circumstances. But he soon stopped, regarding Vodka with a look of dark amusement. "You know . . . I could almost believe that this time it is for real," he mused, his expression turning serious again.

Vodka slumped back. "What did they do to you?" he uttered quietly, horror in his hidden eyes. "What did they do to you, Gin?"

If Gin heard him, he did not give any heed of it.


	2. Let the Fun and Games Begin

**Notes: For those who have read _Empire of Dirt_, the similarities between the explosion scenarios are on purpose. It's to allow a certain amount of vagueness where _Empire of Dirt_ is concerned. Perhaps Gin imagined all of the events of that story in his tortured mind? Or perhaps not. (Though if he didn't, _Empire of Dirt_ still takes place in an Alternate Universe.) And I've tweaked things a bit more again. Thanks to Aubrie for the suggestions!  
**

**Chapter One**

_It should have been an assignment like any other. The ones responsible for the attacks on the Black Organization's bases had never been captured. Gin had always believed that there was more than one person involved, and after several more locations were assaulted, his suspicions were confirmed. He and Vodka had captured one of the people, keeping her alive to tell them the rest, and she had directed them to several others, including the agent who had been working with them from the inside. Gin and Vodka then tracked the traitor to an area in the bad part of town, where her car was parked._

_Gin glowered at it. "Something about this doesn't feel right," he muttered, parking the Porsche across the street._

_Vodka swallowed nervously. "Maybe it's all a setup, bro," he suggested. "Maybe we're being led into a trap." He did not trust the person whom they had caught. It would not surprise him in the least if she had arranged all of this, wanting to get them into a situation where they would be killed._

_Gin grunted. "It's very possible," he answered. "Likely, in fact." He checked his gun's ammunition and then unlocked the door, climbing out onto the pavement. The cool autumn breeze blew his long hair about, tussling the bangs that were already falling over his eyes. He kept a cigarette clenched between his teeth as he walked over slowly and cautiously to the other car. "We'll be careful," he said then, quickly determining that the vehicle was empty. He stepped onto the sidewalk and turned left, heading up the walkway of the old mansion the car was parked in front of._

_Vodka nodded slowly, following the higher-ranked Black Organization member up to the porch. He stood to the side, observing as Gin kicked in the door and walked inside, holding out his gun. Then he followed again. There was something eerie about all of this. He kept having the feeling that someone would leap out into their path, or several someones, and that they would have a terrible time making it out alive._

_But no one appeared as the duo wandered up and down the long halls of the abandoned house. Their footsteps echoed eerily on the rotting floors, and it looked as if no mortal being had entered that abode since whoever had been there at first. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, cracks adorned the walls, and mildew and water spots were all around on the floor from when the roof had leaked. Whatever furniture was there was falling apart, and yet somewhere in the broken-down building it sounded as if a clock was ticking. But that did not make sense. . . ._

_Vodka's eyes suddenly widened, realizing what it must be. "Bro . . ." he said shakily, looking to Gin as he came out of one of the upstairs bedrooms._

_Gin, suddenly hearing what Vodka had, motioned for silence as he listened more closely. Then he growled. "There's a bomb in here," he announced. "The person we're looking for probably rigged the entire house and then left, expecting that we'd come inside if we found her car." And without another word he headed for the stairs. It was pointless to remain there any longer. If they spent time looking for the bomb to defuse it, they might not be able to get out at all. And the person they were looking for would undoubtedly be long gone by now._

_Vodka was right behind him as they reached the main floor and dashed back through the front door. His heart was racing, wondering if they would get away in time, but before he could ponder over it further, the explosion ripped through the house, tearing it apart and sending both men flying from the force of it._

_Vodka slammed hard onto the sidewalk, pain ripping through his entire body as he hit the hard surface. That was already enough to make him dazed, but then he felt something strike him on the head. Everything went black._

_Gin's flight continued for several more seconds. He hit the hood of the woman's car, hissing in pain, and then fell to the ground from there. He was still conscious, but only barely. He gazed up at the night sky above him as the stars spun in and out of focus. Then it sounded as if there were voices all around him, but he could not make out what they were saying. All of it was a confused jumble in his mind. They might as well be speaking a language that he did not know._

_When he felt himself being dragged up a moment later, he wanted to fight against it. He struggled, but he was too weak---and more unconscious than not. Dizziness overcame him, bringing oblivion with it._

_----------------------------------- _

_Vodka did not know how long he had been senseless. When he finally began to regain consciousness, it was still dark. He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he quickly reached for his sunglasses, which had landed in the grass, and put them back on. Then he stared in shock at the sight in front of him._

_The house was completely demolished. Only a skeleton was still standing, with all else in ashes on the ground. Smoke was still pouring from the framework, drifting into the air and mingling with the other elements of the atmosphere. When Vodka looked around in other directions, he discovered that the mysterious car was still there---and that Gin did not seem to be._

_Fully coming to awareness now, he got up shakily in alarm and cast his gaze around the yard. "Bro?" he called, his voice hoarse. There was not any response save for the gentle waving of the trees in the wind._

_Growing more concerned, Vodka made his way over to the target's car. He gazed in alarm at the blood that had splashed on the hood and the windshield. Had something happened to someone else while he had been unconscious, or could that be Gin's blood? Maybe the blonde was still around, but he was too hurt to reply, or even . . . Vodka did not finish that thought._

_Placing a hand on the car, at a spot where there was not blood, Vodka steadied himself and began to walk around to the other side, half-dreading what he would find. But there was only more blood splashed on the ground, and an abandoned, dark hat. Narrowing his eyes, Vodka bent down and picked it up._

_Gin had been here, but now he was nowhere to be found. The Porsche was still there as well, across the street---not that Vodka ever thought that Gin would have abandoned him and left. From the looks of it, Gin would have been too injured to do that in the first place. Vodka did not have any way of knowing whether the other was even alive. But whether he was or not, where on earth had his body gone? Had someone taken him? Vodka clutched the hat tightly, suddenly feeling very alone. He wondered what to do._

_---------------------------------------- _

_Gin found it strange that he was laying in a soft bed. He had been laying on something cold and hard before. At the moment, that was about the only thing he remembered. He forced his eyes open, and the light immediately pierced his vision, even through the shaggy bangs. Growling, he shut his eyes again. The brightness was too much for him right now. He had enough of a headache as it was. In fact, his entire body was aching, most especially his left side and shoulder. He wondered what had happened. He tried to think, but his mind was a blank._

_Then he heard a click, and behind his eyelids he seemed to be able to sense that the room had darkened. This was followed by an unfamiliar female voice speaking in broken Japanese._

_"So sorry about that. You'll forgive, yes?"_

_Gin grunted. The voice had an American accent. After gathering a bit of strength, he managed to reply in fluent English. "That depends on what you want me to forgive," he muttered, finding that it took more energy to talk than he had thought. "Who are you?"_

_There was a soft chuckle. "Oh good," the voice declared, also in English. "You do speak my mother tongue." There was a pause, and he could hear her high-heeled shoes clicking on the floor as she came closer. "As for who I am, my name is Alice Portman. I'm a doctor."_

Oh great,_ Gin thought to himself in irritation. _I must be in some kind of hospital. _Aloud he said, "Where is this?"_

_"This?" He had the feeling the doctor was gesturing. "This is in my little clinic. It's very secluded." She paused. "You certainly took quite a spill. When my orderlies found you, apparently you'd tumbled over a parked car and dislocated your shoulder. You're extremely lucky nothing was broken."_

_Gin was silent, letting this sink into his mind. Then everything came back---the search for the traitor, the explosion, crashing into the car, the immense physical agony that had washed over him. . . . He opened his eyes, appreciating the now-dim conditions of the room. "What about the man who was with me?" he demanded. "Did they find him as well?"_

_A brief look of surprise went through Portman's eyes, but then she masked it. She was a tall woman, with short blonde hair, blue eyes, glasses, and a stylish burgundy business suit. Gin thought that there was a definite "business" quality to her face---a cruel ruthlessness. "I'm sorry," she spoke then. "Yes, they found him, but there was nothing that they could do for him. He was dead. He sustained a fatal head injury when he landed. Oh, speaking of that, you yourself ended up with a bad concussion. I almost wasn't certain you'd wake up, at first."_

_Gin was no longer listening to her. Vodka was dead, just like that? And that woman spoke of it so flippantly. She was not sorry at all. But at least she did not try to seriously pretend to be. That would annoy him even more. He gripped a handful of the quilt. "What did you do with the body?" he asked coldly._

_"I didn't do anything with it," she answered. "It wasn't brought back. My orderlies were focusing on you, because you were still alive."_

_Gin glowered at her. "Then I won't believe he's dead," he said flatly._

_Now she frowned, but Gin knew that he caught a glimmer of interest in her eyes this time. "I didn't realize he meant so much to you," she commented. "What is he to you, out of curiosity?"_

_Gin gave her a look of disgust. "It's not any of your business," he snapped. "And all I said was that I wouldn't believe he was dead without seeing the body. That doesn't mean he's important to me in any way. It means I don't trust you."_

_"True," she nodded, "but why should you distrust me? I don't know you, but I had you brought here so that I could help you. Without me, you might very well have died. You were in bad condition, with your dislocated shoulder, the concussion, and some wounds I had to stitch. You must have been cut by some of the flying debris."_

_"You could have an ulterior motive," Gin retorted, ignoring her last comments. "Most people don't save complete strangers without expecting to get something from it." He shifted in the bed and then hissed in pain, looking down at the bandages at his side and around his arm. "How long have I been here?"_

_"Nearly a day now," she replied. "I've been watching and waiting to see if you'd wake up." She smiled quietly. "And now you have. Are you hungry, by the way?"_

_"No," Gin said defiantly. He still found her suspicious, and he had to wonder if any food that she had was poisoned. He did not want to accept anything supposedly edible from her until he better understood why he was there._

_"Very well," she said calmly, and turned to head for the door. "I'll be back to check on you again later. You'll surely be hungry then." She paused when she reached the doorway. "My apologies about your friend," she added then, and left. Gin glared after her._

_Was Vodka dead? Gin still did not believe it. He did not have any proof, only the word of that physician whom he did not know and had never heard of. What was she even doing in Japan, trying to run a clinic, if she did not even speak Japanese very well? Something was definitely strange. For all he would know, maybe she was mixed up in the very plot that he and Vodka had been investigating._

_The only truth she had spoken, to Gin's knowledge, was that he was injured. At the moment, he did not feel like getting out of bed. Not that it would have made a difference if he had. He had heard the door locking when Portman had left. She wanted to make sure that he did not get out. He growled to himself. As far as he was concerned, he was a prisoner._

_-------------------------------------------- _

Vodka was still sitting next to Gin when he heard footsteps approaching the door. He looked up as a doctor entered the room. Gin also looked up, but his expression did not change. He did tense, however, and the nurse felt it as she continued to work with the marks left by the harsh whip.

It would take a while before Gin could ever feel better towards doctors. Right now he just wanted them all to leave him alone. He was confused, so confused, and he wanted time to try to sort through it all. Was any of this even real? Was Vodka really there? Gin had never wanted to believe that his partner was dead, but so many false memories and hallucinations had been forced upon him during his absence.

At the moment, he was not sure at all what was real and what was not. He wondered if anything was real. Maybe everything was a realistic dream or a drug-induced stupor. Maybe he was still in Portman's laboratory, where he had gone after he had frantically fought off her men with the small dagger that one of them had been using to torment him. But if this was not happening, then Gin had to wonder how far into madness he had fallen. It seemed more real than the previous hallucinations.

Then voices pierced through to his consciousness again and he turned his attention to what seemed to be taking place around him.

"What do you think, doctor?" Vodka asked hesitantly.

The doctor sighed, looking put-out by the entire thing. Obviously he did not want to be there. "Well, we examined him for any signs of internal injuries. We still need to do some definite X-rays, but I think the majority of what we need to worry about is in his mind. It seems like we should keep him here for overnight observation, or even longer, after what's he been through. For all we know, he could snap and attack any of us at any given time." He frowned, giving Gin a scrutinizing once-over before looking back to Vodka. "You said that several people were dead at that 'clinic', apparently from being stabbed. Your partner probably did it, unable to stand the treatment he was undergoing any longer."

Vodka knew that was likely true. "But that's not the same thing!" he objected. "We aren't hurting him. He wouldn't attack unless he felt threatened." At least, he hoped that was the case. He had to admit, he was not certain what Gin might do after all that he had suffered. But surely he was not so far gone that he would simply strike out mindlessly. Vodka refused to believe that.

The physician grunted unkindly. "It's hard to know what a madman would do," he replied. "I think we should not only keep him in the infirmary wing, but in isolation until we know how he's going to behave." This doctor was very different from the older man who had tended to Vodka's arm. This one was quite young and had little feeling for his patients, due to his immense bitterness over having to serve in the Black Organization. As far as he was concerned, all of the operatives simply deserved to die, and if he thought he could get away with it, he would probably kill more than one of them. He did not intend to treat Gin with any sort of kindness now.

Vodka stared at him, his mouth dropping open. "You can't do that!" he exclaimed in outrage, after a moment of trying to find his voice. "Gin hasn't hurt anyone here yet. He should be allowed enough trust to not go locking him up as if he's been on a violent rampage on the base. He's been passive ever since I brought him here." He clenched a fist tightly, appalled by this man's discompassionate attitude. "If you shut him away like that, then you'll only make him worse!"

The doctor gave him a bored look. "He assaulted you, didn't he?" he said flatly. "It was bad enough that you needed stitches."

Vodka stepped forward to stand in front of the man, who was about his height. "He didn't know who I was at that point," he retorted. "He thought I was going to hurt him."

"And we don't have any guarantee that it won't happen again." The doctor finished writing on his clipboard and looked to Gin, who had been sitting silently and observing with eyes of emerald ice. "We'll sedate him for now so that he won't give us any trouble while we do the X-rays. But he'll stay here no matter what we find." He looked right at Gin as he spoke, but continued to talk as if the blonde was not there.

Now Gin's expression changed. Panic, alarm, and anger flashed through his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was raised and there was an edge to it. "I won't stay here!" he cried. He rose up, fully intending to flee the room, and Vodka had to immediately get in front of him, firmly grabbing at his shoulders.

"Bro! Just calm down!" the shorter man pleaded, wondering what he could do to reason with him. He did not want Gin to have to stay here either, but he did know that it was important to take the X-rays, and he was not sure that Gin would allow them to in his current state. Maybe, if Vodka had approached him about the subject, it would have been different. But the doctor's uncaring attitude and his insistence on drugging Gin was making the blonde feel an extreme need to leave right that minute. Vodka did not know what to do, and he continued to hold onto Gin's shoulders as he spoke.

"You'll be alright," Vodka told him, trying to keep his voice even and calm. It was hard, when Gin was fighting to get out of his grasp. "They won't hurt you. They . . . they're not like Portman and her men! They just want to make sure that you didn't get any internal damage from what that woman did!" But Gin only struggled against him, at last shoving him aside and causing him to lose his balance.

"I won't stay here!" Gin repeated, his voice going back to its usual, dark tones. His eyes flashed dangerously. "I won't stay here for any reason! And I won't let you drug me!"

Slowly Vodka got up from where he had been pushed into a corner. He swallowed, watching his distraught partner, and then looked to the doctor. "I don't think he's going to be able to adjust to this idea," he declared, growing upset himself over this unfair situation. "It makes sense, after what he went through. . . . He doesn't want to be drugged! Can you blame him?"

"I don't care what he wants," the doctor growled. "You can see that he won't cooperate otherwise!"

"He might have, if you hadn't said that you'd have to sedate him!" Vodka could not help exclaiming. "He was letting the nurse take care of his wounds. If I'd been able to talk to him about the X-rays, then he might have agreed to that! But now he's convinced that you're going to hurt him, and he's not going to calm down!"

The doctor snorted in annoyance.

Vodka mulled things over in his mind, feeling his anger only increase. He was not, and had never been, a forceful person the way Gin was, but he was not going to stand for this. Gin deserved better treatment than this cruel doctor was giving him. "If you don't find any internal injuries, it would be better for him to come back with me," he ventured now, surprised by how firm he sounded. "He should be somewhere familiar instead of a place that'll just remind him all the more of what he went through!"

The doctor frowned. "We wouldn't be able to monitor him from there," he retorted. He was growing irritated by Vodka's interference. Gin could have been put under long ago if it was not for his partner's stubborn attitude.

"But I could," Vodka replied. "I think the most important thing we can do is to keep him calm and help him to feel safe, and right now he just can't feel safe if he's anywhere that makes him think about what that woman did to him. And your attitude isn't helping things at all!" He looked at the physician firmly. Maybe he knew his medicines, but Vodka knew Gin, and in his current condition it did not seem wise at all to keep him there any longer than absolutely necessary. And if Vodka could help it, he would not be leaving Gin in this man's care.

"I do what I have to," the doctor retorted. "I've made my decision. He's going to stay here, under sedation, until further notice. It's either that or locking him in isolation."

Gin regarded him with hatred. "Try it and I'll kill you," he hissed.

Vodka felt a shiver run up his spine at Gin's half-crazed voice. "Those would be the worst things you could do!" he cried at the doctor, distraught and angry. "Portman probably did that all the time to him, and she probably hurt him with other things in those needles, too."

The doctor frowned at him, frustrated. "He'll just have to learn that this is different," he retorted, taking out a hypodermic needle and filling it with a substance. "Restrain him," he said to the orderlies, who had just appeared in the doorway.

Gin watched them coming over to him, memories flashing through his mind of his experience. He had been approached many times with a needle in the past, most of the time when he could not defend himself against it because of already being too weakened. But he would not stand for it again! No one would force him down and inject anything into his system, not when he was finally able to fight back. He had fought Portman's men and he would fight these people too. He seized the nearest man, sending him viciously to the floor. Then he whirled, grabbing another's wrists and slamming him onto the bed. When a third came at him from behind, Gin kicked out and sent him crashing to the marble tiles.

All of this happened in a matter of a few seconds. It was so quick that Vodka could not do anything to stop it. He stared in alarm as Gin lost control, lashing out at anyone who dared to get close to him. Several times Vodka tried to reach out and take hold of the other, but he could not grab him amid the chaos of flying orderlies. And when the doctor himself went to Gin, stabbing him harshly in the arm with the needle, Gin instantaneously caught him around the neck with one strong hand and began to squeeze.

The physician gasped, clawing at Gin's wrist and trying to loosen the other's grip, but Gin only held tighter, especially when the doctor started repeatedly jabbing the empty needle into his flesh. All reason had fled from the blonde's mind. The only important thing was to protect himself from this new threat. He knew that he was going to pass out in a moment, but he was resisting it as long as he possibly could. He could not fall prey to any more experimentation! He would not!

Now Vodka finally managed to get to Gin, and he grabbed the tormented man from behind, struggling to pull him back. "Bro, you have to let him go!" he exclaimed desperately. "You can't just kill him! . . ." But he could certainly understand Gin's panic. The doctor did not care whether any of this made Gin upset or not. He was completely unsympathetic to the situation. Vodka was afraid of what the consequences of Gin's actions would be, should the man he was choking live to continue the treatments. If so, he would undoubtedly make certain to make it as miserable as he could for Gin. Though, if Gin killed him, that could end up looking bad too. Even though it would only be self-defense in Gin's mind, perhaps the other doctors would not see it that way and they would force him to be imprisoned in isolation.

Gin tried to fling Vodka back with his free hand. "That's what all of them are trying to do to me!" he screamed. "They're trying to make me lose my mind!" But he could not keep his attention divided, and now the doctor was able to get free, coughing and gagging. Looking at the blonde with hatred, the physician grabbed up a nearby metal tray and struck Gin twice over the head with it, dazing him and causing him to lose his balance. Vodka tried to hold onto him, but Gin slid to his knees, shuddering as the sedative began to take affect and as he grew dizzy from being hit on the head.

Vodka looked at Gin's attacker with a mixture of shock and fury, watching the man standing there with the object clutched tightly in his hands. The heavyset man tried to think of something to say, but nothing would come. When he saw the doctor move forward to hit Gin again, however, Vodka rushed forward and punched him, sending him stumbling back and the tray crashing to the floor. "Stop it!" Vodka yelled now, his body actually trembling from his rage. "Stop treating him so cruel!"

The physician looked at Vodka, spitting blood onto the floor from his split lip. He muttered a foul oath under his breath, hatred gleaming in his eyes for both of the Black Organization operatives. Vodka glared back, not intending to back down.

"Here now! What's all this?"

Vodka looked up with a start, seeing the senior doctor standing in the doorway. He felt a certain relief, but still, the damage had already been done. Vodka did not even know how to remedy things after what had just taken place. "They were trying to sedate Gin with a needle, and he wouldn't take it," he announced, indicating the others in the room.

The man's eyebrows shot up. "That was very unwise, under the circumstances!" he exclaimed, and looked to the younger doctor with a reprimand in his eyes. "And knowing you, Aoshi, it was done without any thought for what Gin might be feeling." This was not the first time that Aoshi had acted in an uncaring manner. Sometimes his superior wondered if the other physician was trying to get himself killed for malpractice and insubordination. It was likely to happen, considering his recent behavior.

"Why should I care how he's feeling?" Aoshi retorted darkly, throwing a few choice words into his comment.

"Well, if nothing else, it could mean your job and your life," the older man answered evenly, entering the room. "But you should also remember that he's still a human being, no matter what he does in life. And our job is to look after him and the other operatives when they need it. There's no place in our profession for being judgemental. Anyway, many of these agents still have goodness within them. If you have a little patience, you can see that for yourself."

Aoshi glowered at his superior, his eyes flashing with disgust. "You just sympathize with all of them! You don't care about what they've done! You don't care about all the people they've killed, especially that one." He pointed at Gin, who was still kneeling in a daze on the floor and rubbing at his head, his expression twisted in anger and pain.

"I care," the other doctor answered calmly. "But he isn't the only guilty party. You and I have done our share to further the Organization's work as well. You should stop to think about that once in a while. If the Organization is ever shut down, it would not merely be the assassins who would have to suffer the law's justice. People such as you and I also would."

Aoshi spit out another oath. "He's not a human being," he snapped, looking to Gin and back once more. "None of them are! We're not in the same class as them!" He rubbed at his neck shakily, his voice rasping. "Look at this! Look what that wild man did!"

Vodka was outraged. "He was defending himself!" he interrupted. "And then you just hit him with that tray even after you got free! You didn't have any right to do that!" he cried, and knelt down next to Gin, who was still shuddering and trying so hard not to sink into unconsciousness. Slowly Vodka reached out, laying a hand on the other's shoulder. "Bro?" he asked hesitantly, not sure if Gin even still realized what was going on.

The blonde's head snapped up at the touch. He regarded Vodka with a look mixed with anger, confusion, frustration, and betrayal. Vodka drew back, haunted by those accusing eyes. He was not certain what Gin was blaming him for---not finding him sooner, not stopping the doctor from hurting him, both, or something else entirely. But before Vodka could figure out which, Gin slumped forward in a dead faint. He had lost the battle with the sedative, and being hit so hard with the metal tray---twice at that---had not helped.

Quickly Vodka reached out and caught him, his hands shaking. Gin again shuddered briefly, but then went completely slack and helpless in Vodka's grip. For a long moment afterward, Vodka simply continued to kneel on the floor in the midst of the chaos, cradling the other's upper body in his arms and feeling helpless.


	3. Such a Lovely Lonely Night

**Notes: Chardonnay and Sake are my characters too!**

**Chapter Two**

_Gin had only been awake for several hours when he knew that he had had enough of this imprisonment. He was not going to stay in this room, or anywhere in this doctor's clinic, no matter how bad off he was supposed to be. Painstakingly he pulled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. After resting for a brief moment, he started to push himself up. His body ached in protest, but he ignored it. Grabbing onto the wall for support, he inched his way to the door. He knew that he had heard it being locked, but he reached for the knob anyway, wondering if there was the slightest chance that someone had unlocked it again._

_As soon as he touched the metal, a harsh jolt went into his hand and throughout his entire body. The pain was so unexpected that he actually cried out as he pulled away, shuddering as he gripped at the injured appendage with his other hand. The door was wired with electricity. And when he looked up at the offending door a moment later, his eyes were burning with outrage and hatred. They were going to do whatever it took to keep him trapped in there._

_Now he cast his gaze around the rest of the room, wanting to find some other way to escape. There were not any windows, but there was another door across the sparsely furnished room. Gin gazed at it for a moment, thoughtfully, and then began to look for something that he could use to test on the knob. He was not about to risk getting shocked again. At last finding a thermometer in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, he took it over to the other door and stood over the knob, dropping the object down upon it. Nothing happened, and Gin took hold of the knob, turning it._

_What he found was a pleasant enough bathroom, also without any windows. It was large, about half the size of the bedroom, and there was a jacuzzi as well as a normal bathtub and shower. A linen closet was off to the side of the jacuzzi, filled with soft towels, and the marble tiles were clean and sparkling. Gin grunted. The Portman woman seemed to keep the bathrooms in a more inviting condition than the sleeping quarters._

_  
"Did I hear a scream in here?"_

_He whirled around at the voice. Portman had unlocked the door and was standing in the doorway, casually looking into the room. And Gin's anger boiled over at her tone of voice. He stormed back into the main room, still not moving in a completely normal way, and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. "What's the meaning of charging the door with electricity?" he demanded, his eyes flashing._

_Momentarily surprised, Portman quickly recovered and looked at Gin calmly. "That's so that you won't get out needlessly, of course," she answered. "In your condition, you can't possibly wander up and down and everywhere."_

_Gin shoved her aside, stumbling into the hallway. "I'll do whatever I please," he retorted, and looked up and down the corridor. It was very plain and white, as he would expect from a clinic, but he could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. No normal hospital would keep its doors wired with deadly voltage to prevent escape. They would not dream of such drastic measures, which would undoubtedly hurt the patients even more._

_"Now just settle down." Portman continued to speak in that blasted, calm tone of voice, as if there was nothing at all to be concerned over and Gin was simply overreacting. "You see, I get a lot of patients who aren't all there in their heads, and to keep myself and the others safe, I have to take such precautions. Many of these people are violent."_

_Gin was not impressed. "I didn't do anything to warrant being treated like a madman!" he said indignantly._

_She smiled. "Your room was juiced up so that you would be protected from the one who actually was loose in the building," she replied. "Luckily, we found him now and he's been . . . subdued." Gin could not deny that he did not like the way she said that phrase. It was so ominous, and he was certain that there was a lot going on here that he did not know about---things that she would not tell him._

_He growled. "Maybe he went insane from being locked up too long," he snapped. "I want you to let me go free."_

_She frowned at him now, crossing her arms. "That would be impossible at this point," she said. "You're far from recovered."_

_"I'm fine!" he cried. "Show me where a phone is. I'll call someone to come pick me up." He started off down the hall, furious, but he had only reached the corner before two muscular men about his same height came from around it to stand in front of him. Both were dressed in lab coats, and one was holding a needle._

_"You should listen to the doctor," smiled the first in a nasty sort of way._

_"This is where you're going to stay," added the second. "And it will only be longer if you struggle."_

_Gin cursed, not about to let them get the better of him. As they advanced, he started to back up slightly, giving the impression of not knowing what to do. But then he lunged, ramming his fists into the first's stomach. The man gasped in pain, doubling over, and Gin harshly punched him across the face._

_Then the second was coming at him with the needle. Gin dove out of the way and then attacked, twisted the other's arm viciously. Grimacing, the dark-haired man tried to jab the sharp point into Gin's arm, but he was suddenly kicked back against the wall before he could. He slumped to the floor, dazed._

_Gin looked at them both coldly and then turned, fleeing in the opposite direction before they could recover and give chase. Running into the first room that he saw, he immediately shut and locked the door after him. He would not be captured and drugged! There was not any telling what they would do to him then. He had to find some way to exit this building._

_Hearing a weak moan, he turned around in surprise and found that he was in what seemed to be some sort of laboratory. There were tables and chemicals all around, and at the back of the room was a wall with manacles attached to it. Blood was splattered both on the wall and on the floor, and Gin caught sight of a foot disappearing under one of the tables. Narrowing his eyes, he grabbed up a nearby knife as a weapon and slowly advanced. "Who's here?" he demanded._

_Another moan was his answer, and as he went forward, a hand abruptly shot out, grabbing at his ankle to pull him to the floor. Immediately he lashed out with the knife, cutting into the trembling, pale wrist. But instead of letting go, the hand attached to the wrist only tugged harder. Gin grabbed the edge of the table for balance._

_  
"Let go of me!" he hissed, and pulled violently to get free, kicking out with his other foot. Though the mysterious person tried to keep hold of Gin, he was forced back. Then Gin was bending down, holding the knife out threateningly as he looked to see who had been attacking him. His eyes widened in shock._

_Under the table was a figure with naturally curly blondish-brown hair that tumbled over its shoulders and down its back. It continued to shudder, looking up at him with wild eyes filled with fear and apprehension, and he took in the bruises and cuts across the ghostly flesh. The clothes were badly torn, barely even rags, and as the two gazed at each other, a lone tear of despair slipped down the purplish, damaged cheek._

_Gin pulled back, still unable to believe what he was seeing. "Chardonnay," he breathed in shock. The agent codenamed Chardonnay had been missing for several weeks, ever since she and Sake had been on a mission to Okinawa. Every now and then, reports had come in that she had lost her mind, and now that Gin was looking at her, he could see that it did not seem far from the truth. She was badly shattered, physically and emotionally, and he could see that she did not recognize him. Slowly she started to crawl out from under the table, and he merely watched, waiting to see what she would do._

_As she gained her balance, looking Gin over with distraught, violet eyes, she suddenly lunged with a harsh cry, obviously intending to do him harm. He dropped the knife, grabbing her wrists to restrain her, and she shrieked as if possessed, fighting against him with all of her might. Growling, he brought her close to him, taking both of her wrists in one hand while reaching around to press on the back of her neck. She continued to struggle and kick madly to get free, and he had a difficult time actually managing to press where he needed to in order to incapacitate her without injuring her worse. But then he found the place and held his fingers over it firmly. She gasped weakly, her eyes rolling back into her head as she went limp, falling unconscious into his grasp._

_He caught her, his expression grim, and hoisted her up onto a nearby slab that was unoccupied. As he did so, he took notice of the raw marks around both of her wrists. They had been made by something hard digging into her flesh, and as he looked to the manacles on the wall, he realized that she had been held in place there. Then he realized some of what must have been happening to her before he had found her. They had been torturing her, perhaps even experimenting on her. That was why she had gone mad. It all made sense. He gave a low curse. He did not even know if there would be a way to give her back her sanity._

_"It's a tragedy, what happened to her."_

_Immediately Gin's head snapped up at the voice and he looked around, trying to find the source. No one else was there. But soon he found the monitor near the ceiling, and the speakers. Portman was watching him, a sadistic smirk gracing her features. She could not care less what had happened to Chardonnay, just as she had not been truly sorry when she had told him that Vodka was dead._

_"And what did happen to her?" Gin asked, his voice dark and menacing. Chardonnay had been a smart, perky woman, one of the Organization's most unique operatives, and one of the few women who knew how to talk to Vodka without getting him flustered. To see her reduced to this wild, mindless condition was absolutely appalling. Why had they done it?_

_"She . . . could not take the pressure," Portman answered then._

_Gin's eyes flashed. "What pressure?" he snapped. "What did you do to her?"_

_"She was already in a poor condition when we found her," Portman informed him. "Our attempts to rehabilitate her only made her worse, as you can see. I don't quite know what we're going to do with her now." Her eyes glinted. "But it's fascinating, isn't it? I know what she was once like---so cheerful, so full of life, in spite of where she had to work. And now, well . . . she's fallen completely into disrepair. Even the strongest human minds . . . can still be so fragile." She hesitated on purpose, feeling that it gave more meaning to what she was saying. Then she smiled in a twisted, satisfied way._

_"You're going to do the same thing to me," Gin breathed then in realization. "That's why you're keeping me here!"_

_"We'll see, anyway," Portman replied. "You're supposed to have one of the strongest wills and some of the most impressive endurance of anyone in your Black Organization. You're a prize catch for me to work on." Her eyes glinted as she adjusted her glasses._

_Gin growled, furious. "What's the point?" he demanded. "Who are you working for?"_

_"Who am I working for?" Portman laughed. "Why, science, of course! The future of science depends on what we can learn about the human mind and how it operates. My methods have caused me to be shunned in most 'respectable' circles, but I could care less about that. Someday the world will realize how right I am, and my practices will become commonplace in legal interrogations everywhere. The police, the military, the crime syndicates. . . . Everyone will benefit!"_

_Gin clenched a fist. If there was not any way to leave the building, then there was only one other path he could take. "I'll resist you as long as I'm alive," he vowed then, his gaze of emerald ice piercing through the screen of the monitor. "We'll see who's the strongest---you, with your ways of breaking people, or me, with my mind and my endurance." He wondered how she thought that her methods would be useful during interrogations. If the result was always supposed to be what had happened to Chardonnay, or something similar, then he failed to see how the people conducting the questioning sessions would learn anything._

_Portman smiled, looking pleased. "I accept the challenge," she purred. "But I promise, Gin, you don't know what you're getting into. If you're sane at all when I'm through, you'll be begging for mercy." With that, the monitor went blank._

_Gin cursed, looking back to Chardonnay's limp form. He would never beg. But he would also never end up like this unfortunate woman. He would keep his sanity. If he could not, then as far as he was concerned, it meant that he was not anywhere near as strong as he should be. In a case such as this, failure was not an option._

_---------------------------------- _

_Vodka was sitting in one of the chairs in the living room of the suite that he and Gin shared. He was in a daze over the events of the previous night, and was smoking his third or fourth cigarette. He had a mild concussion, and was supposed to rest, but right now he did not feel like it. All he could think about was the blood he had found splashed over the white car and on the asphault, and what it could mean in light of Gin's disappearance._

_There were various things whispered about on the base, and he had heard snatches of them. Some people were wondering if Gin had simply abandoned Vodka, which was nonsense. Others thought it more likely that he had been taken by whoever had planted the bomb and that he would be tortured for information. And still others had the suspicion that Gin was probably already dead. But Vodka was determined to believe that Gin was alive unless he received proof that showed otherwise._

_He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. "What is it?" he called._

_"I wanted to talk to you, Vodka," came Vermouth's voice from the other side._

_Vodka groaned to himself. "The door's unlocked," he replied._

_The knob turned and the blonde woman stepped into the room. "You look so tired," she remarked, shutting the door after her. "Thinking about Gin?"_

_Vodka sighed and shrugged. Talking to Vermouth was always a new experience in being flustered. Finally he looked up at her, holding the cigarette between his fingers. "I just can't figure out where he might be," he said then._

_Vermouth came in further and sat on the chair opposite Vodka. "Well," she mused, "if it was the woman who arranged the bomb, it seems strange that she left her car behind." She took out a cigarette of her own and lighted it, crossing her legs as she leaned back against the easy chair._

_Vodka knew that she was right. "But who else would even have a motive?" he exclaimed._

_She shrugged. "It's hard to say. Any operative of the Black Organization is bound to have quite a collection of enemies."_

_Vodka was silent. While that was true, offhand he could not think of anyone bold enough to actually abduct Gin. Most of their enemies, despite hating Gin, would not dare to get into a situation where the blonde assassin would be in their domain. They would be too afraid of what would happen to them if they did. Though, if the plan all along was to get Gin too hurt to resist them. . . . He gripped the cigarette tighter, nearly crushing it._

_"What did you want to talk about, Vermouth?" he said now, suddenly remembering that she was there._

_She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I was just wondering," she purred, "if you knew that sometimes martinis are made by combining vodka and vermouth."_

_Vodka stared at her in disbelief. He could feel the color creeping into his face, and his only consolation was that she could not see his widened, appalled eyes. She had come to flirt with him, since Gin was not around for her to bother? He wanted to say something, and he could feel his mouth moving, but no words came out. He could no think of anything to say. If Gin were here, he would jump in at that point and change the subject, silently scolding Vermouth for being so ridiculous by giving her a deathglare._

_She laughed softly and winked. "I'm only kidding," she told him. "Even though it's true." With that she got up and came over to him, her expression sobering. "What are you going to do about Gin?" she asked._

_Vodka shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what there is to do," he replied. "I've been trying to follow up leads, but none of them are panning out." _And so many people are thinking Gin's dead,_ he added silently. He wondered if Vermouth was one of them, but then decided that she probably was not. After all, Vermouth was always talking about how stubborn Gin was. Gin would never die easily._

_Vermouth paused. "You know, Chardonnay's still missing," she said slowly. "And Sake hasn't been seen either."_

_Vodka blinked in surprise. "Are you saying there's a connection?" he demanded. He never would have thought of that. Chardonnay and Sake had vanished on Okinawa, and Gin had disappeared in Tokyo. And as far as he knew, the cases during which they had gone missing were unrelated._

_Vermouth smiled. "Maybe it's something you should look into," she answered, taking the cigarette from his hand and placing it in his mouth._

_Vodka wished that he was not blushing._

_Vermouth straightened up, dropping a folder onto his lap. "Here's the reports Sake made during the time they were on their mission," she told him. "You can thank me later." Winking again, she turned and walked toward the door, shutting it behind her as she went into the hall._

_Vodka stared after her blankly for a moment. She was such a confusing individual! She could be exasperating one minute, caring the next. Vodka could not figure her out at all. But he was grateful for her suggestion. It would probably be a dead end as well, but on the other hand, maybe it would actually yield something worthwhile._

_At this point, he was willing to try anything that might help him find Gin. The blonde was his partner. Vodka was loyal to him and had a responsibility to look out for him, the same as Gin would have if their situation was reversed. But it was more than just that. Vodka was worried about the other. He wanted to know that Gin was safe. And somehow, he had the feeling that Vermouth knew that._

_Looking down, he opened the folder and took out the first sheet._

_--------------------------------- _

_Gin was still in the laboratory a half hour later. He had not been willing to unlock the door, and on the other hand, Portman had not tried to force him to do so. He started to wonder if she had wanted him to go in there all along. Perhaps she had wanted him to find Chardonnay. Maybe she had wanted to see two Black Organization operatives fight each other, thinking, in her sick mind, that it would be a great source of amusement. But Gin was definitely not amused._

_He glanced back to the female agent laying on the slab. It seemed to him that she should have regained consciousness now. He wondered if she could be faking senselessness out of fear, not realizing that Gin was the only one with her right now. Slowly he walked over to her, leaning down as he tried to determine her condition. Her vital signs seemed normal. Carefully he reached out, touching her shoulder. Immediately she tensed. She was conscious._

_Her eyes flew open, and they still contained the wild, terrified look from earlier. Gin frowned, moving back to give her some space. "Do you remember me?" he asked after a moment._

_She looked at him, her expression only growing more alarmed. Then she suddenly sprang up, lunging for him with her hands outstretched. But Gin had expected that, and he reached up, grabbing her around the waist and bringing her down harshly to her feet. "I don't want to hurt you," he said coldly, his eyes dark. "Don't you realize that you've been playing right into this woman's hands?"_

_She screamed, the sound echoing loudly in the closed room, and fought desperately to loosen Gin's grip. She slapped at his arms, kicked, and grabbed at his wrists and dug in her nails. Gin growled, but held on tightly. "Just listen to reason!" he said now. "I'm one of your associates. You've been missing for weeks. Do you remember?" She screamed again, but let go of his wrists._

_Looking around wildly, she grabbed a knife that was laying on a nearby table. He glared, letting go of her and reaching for the weapon. Before he could get it away from her, she slashed his hand and then plunged the weapon into her heart. Her eyes widening in pain, she sank to her knees, shuddering as blood dripped from the wound onto her knees and onto the floor._

_Gin cursed. Clutching his injured hand, he knelt down in front of her. "That's pathetic," he muttered, frustrated that he had not been able to get through to her. She had been too far gone to be helped. He wondered what Vodka would say when Gin told him that Chardonnay had lost her mind and killed herself. But wait . . . Vodka would never say anything about it. He was dead, was he not? No . . . that was not right. Vodka was alive. Gin just had not found him yet._

_Chardonnay looked up at him, and he drew back in shock. Somehow she was not Chardonnay at all. The straight black hair, the blue eyes, the look of betrayal. . . . This was Akemi. But he _knew_ that was not possible! His hand flew to his forehead. He was hallucinating. He had to be._

_The vision spoke. "You thought you were saving me, Gin, but you didn't." Akemi's eyes flashed as she glared at him accusingly. Seemingly unaffected by the knife now, she stood, pulling it out of her flesh and throwing it carelessly across the room. "You could never save anyone, even if you wanted to. I warned you what would happen to you, but you never listened! You became cold and heartless, and you betrayed us! I hate you."_

_Gin growled. "You're already dead," he said flatly. "You can't be speaking to me."_

_"And yet I am." Akemi grabbed Gin and pulled him up by his injured hand, which, he noticed, was suddenly not bleeding any longer. "Could you ever have compassion on anyone? Are you capable of it?" Tears filled her eyes now, and Gin pulled his hand away, just wanting this to be over. He knew it was a fantasy, some drug-induced hallucination, and yet he did not remember when any such drug could have been administered._

_"You killed me. You've killed Shiho. It's your fault Chardonnay is dead! And you killed your partner, too!" Akemi cried now._

_Gin stared at her in shock. "Sherry isn't dead," he protested. "And Vodka . . . I didn't kill him. . . . It was an accident. . . ." And why should he justify himself to a trick of the mind? It was ridiculous! He fell back, looking around for the door. He would unlock it and leave. Whatever Portman and her men were planning, it could not be as bad as being trapped in here with Akemi's ghost accusing and berating him._

_Catching sight of the door across the room, he left Akemi where she was and ran to it, turning the lock and flinging it open as he ran into the corridor. He only got as far as the nearest corner before he was stopped by a badly injured figure stumbling from around the other side. Gin nearly crashed into him before he realized that it was Vodka. He stared, surveying the many wounds that the other had taken into his body. How was it even possible for Vodka to stand at all? He must have lost so much blood. . . ._

_"What happened to you?" he demanded, reaching out to try to stop the bleeding._

_Vodka slapped his hands away. "You happened, bro," he answered quietly. "You did this to me. Don't you remember? It was during our mission. We failed, then you suddenly said I wasn't any use to you any more, and you shot me before I could even fight back." Shakily he reached up, removing his sunglasses to allow Gin to see the hurt look in his eyes. In spite of himself, Gin felt chilled by that look._

_"I didn't do that!" he retorted. "We were running from the house when it exploded! That's how you were killed. I didn't have anything to do with it!"_

_"We should've gotten out of there sooner!" Vodka retorted. "Your pride killed me, bro!" He grabbed Gin's shoulder, and Gin felt the warm blood running onto his bare flesh. Angry suddenly, he shoved the other away from him._

_"It wasn't my fault!" he snapped. "You're not even here. None of this is real!"_

_"What about you, bro? Are you real?" Vodka asked, melting into the shadows. "Look at yourself."_

_Gin looked down at his hands. Both were dripping with blood, his own blood. It pooled around him on the floor, and he suddenly realized that he was lightheaded. He had lost too much blood, somehow, even though he did not even remember being cut. But wait . . . Chardonnay had done that, at least with one of his hands. He swayed as the room began to spin._

_"You aren't so strong after all," Vodka murmured, watching him fall forward into the crimson liquid. "You're failing to stay conscious, just like you've been failing at everything else. Nothing you've ever done is worth anything."_

_Gin tried to force himself to rise out of the puddle of blood, but he could not. "That's . . . not true," he muttered weakly. "You're not Vodka. . . ."_

_Vodka kicked him down. "I just got tired of you treating me like I'm worthless," he retorted. "Now it's your turn." He started to beat the other, pounding his fists into Gin's body._

_The blonde growled, wincing as one blow in particular hit hard. But then he struggled to get up again, fury surpassing all other emotions. He grabbed Vodka's wrists, squeezing tightly as he kicked the shorter man away from him. Vodka fell back, crashing against the opposite wall, and Gin ran forward, grabbing a handful of his shirt._

_"I don't know who you are," he hissed, "but what you just did isn't funny. And you know it'll have consequences later on. I won't stand for it." He paused. "And you make a terrible version of Vodka." With that he delivered a harsh punch to the other, and Vodka slumped back._

_"Don't forget your own wounds," Akemi whispered from somewhere behind him._

_Gin growled, looking around for the source of the voice. There was nothing. But then, overcome by dizziness, he sank to the floor._

_Portman leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Fascinating," she purred. "Simply fascinating." She smirked. "He won't be broken easily. I knew that before I even had him captured." She pushed herself back, placing her feet on top of the console as she continued to watch Gin on the screen. But he did not move now, apparently believing that he had passed out from bloodloss. Chardonnay stood over him, looking unsure of what to do. Finally she shook him on the shoulder, and he growled in response._

_"What did you give him, boss?" one of her orderlies asked. He was standing in the doorway, watching as well, though discreetly._

_"That new drug I've been developing," she replied. "When he thought he was being electrocuted, that was actually a needle in the doorknob jabbing into his hand."_

_The man blinked in confusion. "So he wasn't shocked?" he asked slowly._

_"He was," Portman smiled, "and he was so focused on that, that he didn't realize he was being stuck with a needle at the same time." She reached for a nearby glass of lemonade, sipping it as she watched Chardonnay grab Gin by the wrist and pull, trying to get him up. But she soon realized that she could not, and she sat down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest._

_Portman smirked. "Poor girl," she remarked. "I wonder if she recognizes him now as being one of her associates. I'll enjoy watching her interact with him." She set the glass aside. "And I'll also enjoy seeing how he reacts to the drug as time goes on." She looked up at her lackey. "Of course, you know we won't be relying just on that." She picked up a whip that was laying on the other side of the console, running her hand over it. "Once we've worn him down enough, we can start on the physical torture. It won't just be an illusion then."_

_The man at her side smirked. "Do you really think he can be broken, boss?" he asked._

_"Oh, all people can be broken," she answered calmly. "It's just a matter of finding the right combination. With this one, not failing seems to be very important. He has a lot of pride. Well, we'll take care of that, soon enough." She laid the whip down and took up the lemonade again, smirking in the darkness before taking another sip._

_-------------------------------- _

Vodka sat tensely in the chair next to Gin's bed, waiting for him to awaken. The doctors had not found any internal injuries, and the senior physician had allowed Vodka to take Gin back to their suite. He was certain that Vodka would look after the blonde well, and he felt, as Vodka did, that it would be better for Gin to be somewhere familiar. The infirmary would only heighten the poor man's distress.

Vodka had laid the other on his stomach, where he would not have to lay on so many painful welts. Gin had stirred once, bringing the pillow closer to him, but otherwise he had not given any indication of being closer to shaking off the effects of the sedative. He looked fairly calm as he slept, and Vodka wondered if Gin was dreaming. He somehow doubted it. After what the blonde had been through, it was unlikely that any dreams of his would be pleasant.

Vodka had to wonder if Gin would even realize that he was actually there. He was still deeply disturbed by the way Gin had talked at the infirmary, asking if Vodka was truly there and mentioning how he would think that Vodka would come and talk to him after he had been badly beaten. Vodka clenched a fist. Gin would have had to have been very badly out of it to even admit to that much of what he had been through. Gin abhorred looking weak. And while Vodka did not think that it made the other appear weak, he knew that Gin would, if he was truly in his right mind.

He looked at the blonde again, shuddering as he noticed the marks across Gin's right shoulder, which continued on his back and were currently hidden by his long hair. Vodka hated to think of what would have had to happen to render Gin so helpless that he could be whipped so viciously. He would have done everything in his power to defend himself. He was a physically strong person, in addition to being skilled with a gun. Most people did not dare to cross him, for more reasons than one. Even though occasionally an agent had been taken by a rival organization and tortured for information, Gin never had been. Vodka supposed that he had always thought that if anyone ever did manage to get Gin, they would end up tortured instead of the green-eyed man.

"Are you ever gonna be your old self again, bro?" Vodka asked softly, leaning slightly on the chair with his uninjured arm.

Gin stirred again, as if in response to the other's voice. Slowly he returned to consciousness, forcing his eyes open and blinking as he tried to determine where he was. It did not seem ominous. It seemed pleasant enough, even familiar. But he had been subjected to those sorts of tricks before. He did not have any way of knowing that it was not that way again. He was fully expecting to hear Portman's heels clicking on the floor, followed by her sadistic laugh. When he instead heard Vodka's voice, he started violently.

Some Vodkas had taunted him, while others had said that they would help him and then taunted him instead, and still others had tried to help him and then were shot dead. He wondered which way it would go this time. He did remember that this Vodka had tried to assist him, and that he had even believed it was the real one. Maybe it even could be. Gin just did not know. He wished that he could, instead of being left to wonder if he was still insane.

Vodka sighed softly. Gin was still on edge. It was understandable, but Vodka wished for the umpteenth time that he knew how to get through to the blonde. "I brought you back home," he said slowly after a moment of silence.

Gin grunted, raising himself up partially to look around better. It looked like his room. It felt like he was laying in his bed. And it certainly seemed as though Vodka was there with him. With a sigh of his own he slumped back into the pillows. How would he know that he was not living in a fantasy, as he had so many times before? He did not trust his eyes. He did not trust his ears. He did not trust his mind. After several weeks of Portman's torture, he simply could not.

Vodka shifted uncomfortably. "Do you want me to get you anything?" he asked now.

_My sanity,_ Gin thought to himself. He shook his head slowly, wondering if he would ever know if this was real.

Vodka sighed again, wondering if it would be best to just let Gin be for now. He did not seem willing to communicate. Maybe if he was left alone, he could more easily sort out his confusion and come to realize that he was safe. Perhaps Vodka's presence only added to Gin's perplexity. He started to get up.

"Vodka. . . ."

He started, feeling his sleeve being grabbed. Surprised, he looked down at Gin, who was looking back at him with an earnest question in his eyes. For a brief moment Vodka saw Gin's intense longing for this to be real, and how lost he felt, and it haunted him for many days afterward.

"How can I know that this isn't just a dream brought on by foolishness?"

Vodka swallowed, wishing that he had an answer for Gin that would help. Instead he could only shrug helplessly. "You have to trust me," he said at last, thinking that it sounded hollow. He could not expect that Gin could trust anyone right now. It was as the doctor had said---Gin's trust had been shattered. It would take a long time to be able to repair that. Vodka did not want to seem as though he was trying to rush the blonde. He knew that would not help and it would likely only cause Gin to push him away even more.

Gin raised himself up further, seeming to be scrutinizing the other. But then he sank down again, the look in his eyes fading to weariness. He had been deceived too many times by his mind. He was not willing to try again yet. It seemed like reality, but it would not be the first time. He did not want to get his hopes up.

Vodka watched him, his shoulders slumping. But he understood. Slowly he turned to go.

"Don't leave."

He stopped again, more surprised than before. For a second time he looked back, into those same, weary eyes. Somewhere there was a spark, a trace of the partner he had known for so many years now, but then it was gone, leaving only this exhausted and broken man behind.

"The others always left." Gin watched him, not wanting him to go but feeling certain that he would. He would be left alone as always, taunted and tormented and ridiculed until he could no longer take it. He had never wanted Vodka to see him in that state, but at the same time he had always longed for release. He had wanted to get away. And those first times when Vodka had come to him, saying that he would help Gin find the way out, Gin had believed him. Now, this Vodka was claiming that he could help Gin if Gin would only trust him. Gin still did not know that he could ever trust what was probably another figment of his imagination, but even so, he wanted the other to stay . . . just for once.

Slowly Vodka reached out, laying his hand on Gin's uninjured shoulder. He was shocked by the other's request, and also quite disturbed. It meant that Gin was much worse off than he had even thought. But he tried not to show the extent of his feelings. "I won't leave, bro," he replied quietly as he sat down again. Gin relaxed, ever so slightly.

It was a start.


	4. This is Not a Free For All

**Notes: V. is mine, too. I always seem to find a way to bring her into my fandoms! And the last lines in this chapter probably will not be understood unless one has read _Ghosts_. . . .**

**Chapter Three**

Vodka never remembered falling asleep. He had not intended on it in the first place, but it had somehow happened. It had been such a long day, with raiding Portman's base and finding Gin in such an unstable condition, and he had simply not been able to control his urge for sleep.

He found himself wandering through what seemed to be a labyrinth made of hedges. He knew that he was looking for something, or maybe someone, but he could not quite remember what or who. But then he heard a pained scream echoing from somewhere nearby. He paled, recognizing it and yet not knowing why. He ran faster, finding his way around first one corner, then another, as he tried to get closer to the source of the cry.

Then, as he rounded a third corner, he gasped and jumped back in shock. A tall, well-built man, once physically strong but now weakened and bent over from his injuries, was standing in front of him. He shuddered, clapping a hand over his chest near where his heart was. Blood seeped through his fingers, and Vodka could see more blood dripping from the other's bare back. The long blonde hair was stained red, and he was having trouble even standing at all. As he looked up, his emerald eyes were filled with the same accusatory look from the infirmary. Blood ran down his face, presumeably from his forehead, trailing over his cheeks and nose, and interfering with his vision. And Vodka finally recognized him, despite his tortured appearance.

"Bro . . ." he murmured in shock and horror, not knowing whether to shrink back or to reach for the hand that Gin was shakily holding out.

Gin began to point at Vodka with his forefinger, trembling again from the pain. "You didn't come," he accused, his expression never changing. Blood dripped off of his hand and onto the ground, but he did not seem to notice or care. He coughed harshly, blood appearing at his lips.

Vodka stared at him. He wanted to look away, and yet he could not. He swallowed hard, feeling guilt wash over him. "I'm sorry, bro," he managed to say finally, but he knew that it sounded hollow. "I . . . I tried. . . ."

Gin glowered at him, the accusations obvious in his eyes. Then the hand fell away from his chest, revealing how profusely he was bleeding. Vodka also saw, to his shock, that Gin was holding a knife in that hand. He had stabbed himself. Gin let the weapon drop as he stumbled and tripped, falling forward, and Vodka forced himself out of his trance to reach out and catch him. He held the battered body close, trying not to lose his own balance, and felt the blood running over his hands. Gin moaned softly but then was silent. Vodka felt the other sag against him even more.

He sank into the grass, still holding Gin in his arms and trying to be careful not to further jar all the wounds the other had sustained. The blonde was silent for a long moment before at last speaking again. "You didn't come," he choked out again, grabbing at Vodka's jacket with a blood-stained hand but not managing to get a firm grip before the remaining life drained from his form. The hand dropped, the eyes felt shut, and Vodka knew that his partner was dead.

For a long moment he simply knelt where he was, cradling the empty shell and being haunted by Gin's final actions and words---and the look in his eyes. Vodka had failed him, and there was not anything he could do to change it.

He started awake with a gasp, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. It took him a moment to focus on the room and to realize where he was and to remember what had happened. Then he reached up, rubbing at his eyes wearily. It was only a dream. . . . Gin was still alive. Vodka had found him in time, and he still had the chance to help him recover.

And . . . Gin was not suicidal. He would not kill himself. But still, Vodka felt uneasy. Gin had changed so much. . . . What if he was so far gone that he actually might decide to end it all, out of despair? No . . . that was just Vodka's own, unfounded concerns. That was ridiculous.

Abruptly his arm was grabbed and he nearly jumped a mile. He turned to look at Gin, who was sitting up on the bed and clutching desperately at his partner. Several locks of his long blonde hair fell over his bare shoulders as he shuddered. The same accusing look was in his eyes, along with weariness and something that Vodka could not quite place. Could it be . . . sadness? Regret? He was not certain.

"Why weren't you there?" Gin spoke now, his voice strained. Vodka was at a loss for words, and could only gaze at him speechlessly. Gin gripped tighter. "You weren't there when I needed you. . . . I called for you sometimes, but you never came."

Vodka's eyes flickered with shame even as he watched Gin in absolute shock, and though he could not see it, a hurt and haunted look had come into his orbs. Gin would never say anything of the sort if he fully realized it. But in his current condition, Vodka had to wonder if what Gin was saying was how he honestly felt. Had Gin truly wanted Vodka there in his darkest hours? Had he been in such agony, and unable to help himself, that he had longed for Vodka to help him? Vodka had always thought that Gin's pride was such that he would rather suffer than to be assisted. But perhaps even Gin had a breaking point. Perhaps even he knew that sometimes he could not manage on his own.

In any case, Vodka did not know how to respond to Gin's remarks. He swallowed hard. "I looked for you," he said finally, his own voice quiet. "I know it wasn't good enough, bro, but . . . I did what I could. I didn't forget you."

Gin growled, slowly letting go. Vodka wondered if what he had said had registered at all, or if Gin would know or care if it had. Did Gin even trust him at all anymore? Vodka doubted it, and yet Gin had wanted him to stay. Was he that desperate to not be alone? Vodka could hardly stand to think of what must have been done to reduce Gin to the tormented man that he now was. Gin had never feared solitude before. Usually he seemed to welcome it, even though he also did not seem to mind if Vodka was with him.

Vodka looked at him sincerely. "I wish I could have done more," he admitted. "I wish I could have found you sooner. But . . . I never stopped looking, and I did find you. . . . It seems like that's gotta count for something. . . ." But maybe in Gin's mind it did not. Maybe it did not mean anything because Vodka had not been there to save him from the torture. It would hurt, if Gin felt that way, and yet Vodka would understand if he did.

Gin grunted now, looking down at the quilt. "It might be too late now," he answered flatly. He did not know if he ever would be sane again, or if he could be.

"I won't believe that!" Vodka snapped suddenly, and then his eyes widened in surprise at his firm tone. He looked at Gin in determination. "You're not a lost cause, bro," he said then, and hoped it was the truth.

Gin shrugged in a world-weary way. "I guess we'll see," he replied, though it was obvious that he did not hold any hope at all. And Vodka had to admit, that fact did make him a lot less confident. For the blonde to not have any faith in himself, it meant that he had been tortured far worse than Vodka had even thought. But he knew that he had to keep believing in Gin anyway.

-----------------------------------

_Gin woke up some time later on the floor of the laboratory. At first he did not remember at all where he was. He wanted to say that he was back at the Black Organization's base, in the suite he shared with Vodka, but he quickly realized that was not the case. Then he thought that he had been wounded severely and that he was badly bleeding all over the floor, but as he slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position, he found that there was not any blood at all._

_He growled in confusion, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. He had a bad headache as well, but he could not think of how that had come about. He did not recall striking his head against anything. In fact, he realized, he remembered hardly anything after being thrown over someone's car due to an explosion. There were scattered memories of what came after, including a strange and sadistic blonde woman, but all of it blurred together in Gin's mind._

_He started out of his mind when he felt arms go around his bare waist from behind and a head being laid on his shoulder. "What's going on?" he burst out, utterly astonished. "Let go of me!" He tried to look over his shoulder to see who had suddenly embraced him. All he could see was a shock of curls, but that was plenty. He grabbed Chardonnay's wrists and pried her arms loose, feeling extremely uncomfortable and also annoyed. He was not an affectionate person, and he did not appreciate being hugged randomly by people who were only mere acquaintances. He had rarely allowed it from people whom he was close to._

_Chardonnay slumped back, allowing Gin to go free. As he turned around to face her, she looked up at him, her violet eyes filled with hopelessness. "It's always really hard, the first time," she said softly in a voice so unlike her normal, happy tones. She looked like a ghost of her former self._

_"The first time?" Gin repeated in disbelief. "What first time?" He glared at her searchingly. Now he was starting to remember having found her there and being attacked by her. This was the first she had spoken since then._

_"The first time they drug you," she replied, curling her legs Indian-style and gripping the calves as she started to rock back and forth in a slow, despondent way. "You see all these things, and usually a lot of it is what you fear most or what you hate to think about. . . . Maybe sometimes it's how you really see yourself. . . . And then they're always watching you, and they figure out the things that will wear you down the most, so they try to emphasize those things." She shrugged sadly. "And you lose it. . . . You try to hold it together as long as you can, but there just comes a time when you can't take it anymore. . . ."_

_He growled, grabbing her shoulders to make her look up at him. "Is that what they've been doing to you?" he asked._

_She nodded. "Sometimes I still have moments where I think I'm not crazy . . . but then it starts all over again. . . . Or sometimes I just seem to blank out, and I don't remember what I've been doing for a certain period of time." She looked down, her eyes filled with guilt. "I think . . . I think I've hurt people. . . . Lots of people. . . . You, Sake. . . ."_

_Gin's eyes widened. "Sake is here too?" he demanded. He supposed that should not be a surprise. It made sense._

_Again she nodded. "They keep her locked up, most of the time," she said in hushed tones, as if the wickedness was so unspeakable that she could not feel comfortable saying anything about it in a normal voice. "Sometimes she throws herself against the door, so desperate to get out that . . . that she doesn't even care about the electricity. . . ." More tears broke free. She was utterly bewildered. Her training had not taught her how to handle a situation of this nature. Being taken and tortured for information was something to be expected, but being taken and experimented on by a mad scientist definitely was not something that had been deeply considered._

_Gin released her, looking around their prison with narrowed eyes. "How long have I been in here?" he muttered, half to himself. He was furious over the treatment that they were undergoing. They had become the victims, the lab rats, in a twisted game. They were at the mercy of Portman, and Gin knew that mercy was not something that she had in abundance. His pride would not allow him to accept this situation. He had already vowed not to let that woman get at him, but she had anyway. He did not know how she had managed to drug him, but obviously that was what had happened. He would have to be extremely careful in the future to ensure that it did not happen again._

_"A few hours, I guess. . . . That's how long it takes for the drug to wear off. . . ." Chardonnay bit her lip. "The idea is that sooner or later it will affect you so badly that you'll see things even when you haven't been injected, and that you'll just really get worn down. . . . That's when they start the physical torture too. . . . They want to completely break your spirit and your mind."_

_Gin slowly got up. "We should be able to get out of here," he muttered. "I locked the door from the inside. . . ." He gripped the edge of a table as he straightened up, wincing as he stretched the muscles in his injured side. Unconsciously he held a hand over the wound as he started to shuffle forward._

_Chardonnay watched him. "Maybe," she said slowly, "but there's no way out when you're in the hall. There aren't any windows, and Portman's men are everywhere. I think they're always watching us on the cameras, too. . . ." She shuddered, feeling ill, and laid down on the floor. Her vision was starting to go out again, and she was afraid of what she might end up doing. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to block it all out._

_Sometimes she wished that she could just die and end the misery. She was not sure why she never tried. Perhaps she was not brave enough, she thought to herself. Or perhaps it was because she did not want to leave Sake alone. And yet there was not anything that she could do for Sake anyway. And now Gin would be tortured the same as they had been. But, she hoped, maybe he would be able to resist. Gin was surely stronger than she was, she was certain._

_Gin ignored her and went to the door, trying the knob after unlocking it. It slid open easily, and he frowned darkly. That was too easy. He did not doubt that Chardonnay was right about not being able to escape. But that did not mean that he would not try. Cautiously he stepped into the corridor._

_  
"Oh, I see you're awake."_

_He growled furiously. That was Portman's voice, echoing all around him. She was too smart to make herself seen, knowing that Gin might try to harm her. So instead she would drive him mad by letting him know that she was always watching, whether he could see her or not._

_"I'm not going to be your experiment," he hissed, slowly moving up the hall and looking into the first room that was unlocked. It was another laboratory, but this one was devoid of occupants. Gin shut the door again, letting it close with a bang, and tried the next one. It was locked._

_"But you already are, Gin," the woman smiled. "How do you even know that anything you're seeing is real? Maybe you're still hallucinating. Maybe you're not even here at all. You could be at your base, and you would never know it. There's impersonal hallways like this there, aren't there?"_

_Gin refused to answer. No, he would not fall prey to her mind tricks. This was not the base! He was not hallucinating now. He knew where he was. He tried the rest of the doors. They were all locked._

_"I'm sorry you can't seem to get anywhere," Portman purred now. "Maybe all the doors are closed to you because of your guilt over killing your partner. It could all be in your mind."_

_The blonde's eyes flashed. "Shut up!" he snapped. "Vodka's death isn't my fault." He clenched a fist tightly. "It was an accident!"_

_"But it was still because of you and your insistence on catching the target that your partner met his demise," Portman answered. "You recklessly got both yourself and Vodka into a dangerous situation. And you're the only one who managed to get out of it alive. It was your pride that killed Vodka. Nothing will change that. You can deny it all you want, but you could have both made it out of the basement if you hadn't been so stubborn."_

_"We weren't in a basement!" Gin retorted furiously. He was already on edge from Portman's cruelty and being drugged, but other than that, he felt as if there was something pushing him to lose his mind and become violent. It was a desperate struggle for him to keep his temper in check._

_"Of course you were," Portman said. "Don't you remember? That's what you told me. The boiler exploded and would have killed the both of you, had you not been pushed further along by your partner. And he died in your place."_

_"That's . . . that's nonsense!" Gin shot back in disgust. He knew what had happened. They had fled the house just as it had exploded. Vodka had hit the sidewalk, and Gin had slammed into the car that had been parked there._

_He frowned deeply. That was what Portman had told him, anyway. He had not personally remembered any of it. How would he know what had happened for certain? Both of those stories Portman had told him could be false, or one of them could be the truth. It made him all the more angry that she had that advantage over him. He did not know the truth, and she most likely did, but had she told it?_

_He cursed in his mind. No, he did remember the explosion and crashing into the car, independent of what Portman said. He hated himself for doubting. Nothing that he was told by that woman could be taken as fact._

_. . . He did remember that aside from Portman's words, did he not? Suddenly he was not sure at all. Maybe he only thought he did._

_"You must be hungry by now, Gin," the voice spoke again after a long silence._

_Gin looked around for any sign of a speaker, hatred flaming in his eyes. "Any food you'd give me would probably be laced with that drug, or something else. I'd rather starve." He did not care how long it took. He would find his way out of there. After all, there would have to be _some_ means of escape. Portman would think that she was smart enough to hide it from him, but he would find it anyway. He was determined not to be outsmarted by a mad scientist._

_"Well," Portman laughed, "we can't have that. I need you alive for a good while yet. If you won't eat voluntarily, you'll be force-fed."_

_Gin did not doubt that she would have one of her men do that. But that did not deter him. He would fight all of it tooth and nail if he had to. He would not allow himself to be drugged again, and especially not like that, through food._

_He raised a hand to his forehead, suddenly realizing that he felt dizzy. The entire hallway had started to spin, twisting and turning this way and that. Puzzled and angry, he tried to stagger on anyway, but his legs gave out on him before long and he collapsed to the floor with a curse. This was so frustrating! It made him feel so weak. It must be a side-effect of the drug she had used on him earlier._

As he hit the floor, he realized that it felt cold and hard, whereas when he had been standing, it had felt like carpet. Frowning in confusion, he forced himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall for support. It was cold as well, and felt like steel. It also did not feel solid.

_His eyes widening, he whirled around to examine it---and found himself looking at metal bars. He was in a cell. He stared in disbelief, reaching out to touch the two poles nearest to him. Using them as support, he forced himself back to his feet and then shook them in fury. "Let me out of here!" he screamed. At the moment he did not stop to wonder how he had suddenly ended up there. Perhaps it was another trick of Portman's. Or it could have been the carpeted corridor that was a trick._

_The cruel woman laughed. "Oh, you've finally realized where you actually are, Gin?" she remarked. "I knew that you thought you were in a hallway, because of the way you went about acting as if you were opening doors. But you've been in that cell the entire time. After you passed out from the drug, my men took you and threw you in there. You've been in and out of consciousness for several days now."_

_Gin looked around wildly. That was impossible! It could have only been a few hours. He remembered very clearly what had happened before the drug had forced him to hallucinate, and it had not happened several days previous. "You're lying!" he snapped indignantly. "You're still trying to make me think I'm out of my mind!" And then he realized something else. If it actually had been several days, and he had not eaten anything, he would be much weaker than he was, and he would feel the hunger pains. He growled, clenching a fist. Either he was right, and Portman was lying, or else it truly had been days and she had already been having her men force-feed him. If he had not been fully aware of things for that long, they would have had plenty of opportunity to do that, drugging him further along the way._

_"Oh, but Gin, you are out of your mind," Portman purred. "Maybe I'm not even really speaking to you. How will you know? How will you know if anything is real? Maybe that cell isn't real, either." He could tell that she was smirking. "And no matter how much you deny it, you're starting to wonder yourself just how much of what you think you know is just a fantasy."_

_Gin shook the bars again, but he knew that it was not any use. He was trapped there. But instead of that serving to break him, it only made him enraged. How dare she toy with him in that way! She would regret it, once he was free. And he would be. She underestimated him. . . . Unless she was planning on his anger. Perhaps that was also part of her plan. He growled to himself at the thought._

_Another wave of dizziness crashed over him and he swayed violently, ending up pressed against the cold metal of the bars. Slowly he lowered himself to the floor again. Perhaps this was not real at all. But for right now, it was the only reality that he knew._

_------------------------------------------- _

_Vodka was growing vexed as well. For the last several days, he had been studying everything that he could concerning Chardonnay's and Sake's mission on Okinawa. It had been a simple enough assignment, and one that was similar to many of the missions those two were often handed. They had been supposed to meet with a prospective client who specialized in dealing with illegal weapons and to set up a business partnership. Sake had said that they had completed it. And then, without ever saying when they were coming back, she and Chardonnay had simply vanished. Vodka could not think of anything to do, except to go to Okinawa himself and meet with their client._

_That was where he was now---in fact, in the lobby of the office building. The CEO ran a legitimate company in addition to what was done on the black market with weapons, and Vodka was watching the people come and go as he waited to be told that he could go into the CEO's office. He idly drummed his fingers on the arms of the green, fancy chair, hoping that no one would decide to make conversation with him while he was waiting. But they were all too busy with their own business to care._

_He wondered what Gin was doing now. He was certain that the other was in trouble. He would never have once dreamed of what the truth actually was, but still, he knew that something had to be wrong. If Gin was alright, something would have been heard from him. Vodka was sure of it._

_"Sir?"_

_He looked up with a start, realizing that the receptionist was speaking to him. "Y-yeah?" he stammered, and immediately felt foolish._

_She did not bat an eye. "The CEO will see you now," she informed him as she placed the telephone receiver back in its cradle. "It's the twelfth floor."_

_Vodka got up, nodding curtly. "Thanks," he mumbled, and headed for the elevator._

_It did not take him long to find the right door. **V. Arnold, CEO** was clearly printed both in white English lettering and in kanji across the glass double doors directly across from the elevator. V. was not Japanese; V. and the company were from America, and that was about all that Vodka knew. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and went into the outer office, where V.'s private secretary was._

_The secretary, an attractive young woman with pale blonde hair, smiled calmly at him. "You're expected," she announced, and pointed to the door of the inner office. "Go on in."_

_He nodded in thanks and pulled open the next door, immediately stepping into a world quite different from what he had expected._

_The office was dimly lit, but he was so used to wearing sunglasses and seeing in near-darkness that he did not have much of a problem determining what was there. Various plants and vases from around the world decorated the corners and a cameo bookcase in the corner. Another shelf was devoted entirely to gems, while a third had several rare volumes that had probably been placed there for show. The desk, over near the plate glass window, was kept neat, with only the barest minimum of papers and folders on it in addition to the laptop. The chair was turned, facing the window, and after a moment during which it was not turned around, Vodka cleared his throat anxiously._

_"Excuse me . . . I had an appointment?" he spoke, shifting uncomfortably. He came to attention as the chair was turned around, but then he started in shock at what he had not expected._

_"Oh, I'm sorry," a sultry voice purred in fluent, accented Japanese, "yes, of course. You must be here about the two agents who have gone missing."_

_V. Arnold was dressed in a sharp and classy cream-colored business suit and a dark tie. Naturally wavy red hair fell neatly around the shapely shoulders, and bright, cunning emerald eyes gleamed out at Vodka from a beautiful face. A soft, welcoming smile graced the features, but Vodka did not feel at ease, especially with V.'s tone of voice._

_"That's . . . that's right," he nodded, stammering again. He flushed._

_V. smiled. "Do sit down, darling," she said, gesturing to the nearby chairs around the room. "Make yourself comfortable."_

_Quickly Vodka pulled a chair over to be in front of the desk and sank into it, trying to gather his composure. "I . . . I wanted to ask you about when Chardonnay and Sake came to see you several weeks ago, Ms. Arnold," he said then. He was here on business. If he could just keep that in mind, and forget about the way she was smiling at him, as if she was amused by him being flustered, then he would be fine._

_"Oh, do call me Vivalene," she answered then, her smile widening and showing pearly white teeth. "We'll dispense with all those formalities. I'll call you Vodka, alright?" She used the chair arm to prop herself up on an elbow, and crossed her legs, and then hurried on before Vodka had a chance to even think of a reply to that._

_"I'm really afraid I can't tell you much about your associates, Vodka. Our meeting went exactly as scheduled, and then they left. I didn't expect to hear from them again after all, but I also didn't expect that you wouldn't, either!" Now she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk and lacing her fingers. "I was just as surprised as you must have been to hear about their disappearance." Her voice spoke of her innocence in the matter, but for some reason, and Vodka was not sure why, he was not convinced._

_"Did . . . anything strange happen when they were here?" he asked then. "Maybe . . . someone who kept hanging around the building?"_

_She blinked. "No, I'm afraid not," she answered. "At least, I certainly didn't notice anything of the kind happening." She opened a drawer, removing a bottle and two glasses. "Sherry?" she asked, again smiling in her coy way._

_Vodka swallowed hard and wished that Gin was there, for more reasons than one. "No, thank you," he said then._

_She shrugged and poured herself some, and Vodka watched as the amber liquid splashed into the glass. "Did I hear right?" she asked casually. "Your partner's missing, too?"_

_Vodka nodded. "He disappeared five days ago, after an explosion during a mission." And he looked away then, still feeling guilty as he said it. It should not have happened. He should have been able to prevent it. And yet he knew that there was not any way he could have. He had fallen unconscious instantly upon hitting the sidewalk._

_"An explosion, you say?" Vivalene set the bottle aside and raised the glass in a toast before taking a sip. "Well," she said then, casually swishing the wine about in the container, "maybe you need to consider that . . . well, how do I delicately put it . . . that it would not be humanly possible to recover his body?"_

_Vodka gripped the arm of the chair. "No," he retorted, not liking how she apparently thought that he was an idiot. "Gin . . . he . . . he made it out of the place. We were running next to each other when the explosion hit. I . . . I found his blood on the car that was parked there."_

_"Hmm," she mused, again sipping the sherry. "I see. Well, that's interesting. I don't see how it would have anything to do with Chardonnay and Sake, though. Weren't you investigating someone involved in a plot to blow up your organization's bases?"_

_"You know an awful lot about it," Vodka said then, after a moment of reflection. "I know I didn't mention that. . . ." He looked up again, frowning, and studied her face, trying to determine what was going on behind her dark smile and her glinting eyes, but it was impossible._

_She was unruffled. "I guess I heard it through the grapevine," she purred. "News travels fast in the underworld." She laid the glass down on the desk and stood up, indicating that the interview was concluded. "I'm sure you know that, Vodka."_

_She came around the desk, and he stood as well, whereupon she firmly shook his hand. "And I do thank you for coming. I wish I'd been able to be of help to you. You must be so worried." Here she paused, as if something else had just occurred to her, and her smile suddenly turned wicked. "Of course, if he isn't found, maybe that would work to your advantage, Vodka. Maybe you would even . . . rise up in the ranks?"_

_Vodka gaped at her, drawing his hand back from her cold grip. He did not want to be touched by her. "Are you suggesting that maybe I killed him?" he said in disbelief._

_"Well," she grinned, "business is business." She walked around him thoughtfully, and he tried to turn with her, not wanting her out of his view. "Maybe you regained consciousness and saw him laying helpless on the ground, and you decided it was a perfect opportunity, so you made sure he was dead and then dumped his body in the wreckage of the house, where it would burn and there would not be any evidence."_

_Vodka was suddenly sickened. And as the initial shock of Vivalene's accusations wore off, he became very angry."I . . . I'm not like that!" he cried indignantly. "He's my partner. . . . I wouldn't hurt him!" He could not even imagine ever doing something to Gin out of malice or selfishness. If he had woken up and found Gin laying unconscious and hurt on the ground, he would have immediately done everything he could to help him. And he liked to think that Gin would do the same for him, if their positions were reversed._

_"If you say so, darling." Vivalene patted his shoulder._

_Vodka pulled away. "I have to go," he said firmly, and fled for the safety of the door. He could feel the woman's eyes upon him, and all he wanted was to get out of her sight. There was definitely something strange about her that made him uneasy, but even if she did not have any connection with the disappearances, he did not want to deal with her unfair accusations. He hoped that he would never have to talk to her again._

_------------------------------------------------ _

Eventually Gin fell into a troubled, yet natural sleep, and Vodka watched over him nervously. He wished that he knew how to better handle the situation. He kept feeling that he was not doing everything that he could or should in order to help Gin relax and be at peace, and yet he did not know what he could do that he had not already been doing. He hated feeling as helpless as he did.

Abruptly Gin's eyes snapped open and Vodka started, not having expected the other to wake up without warning. Gin shot into a sitting position and looked around wildly, and Vodka swallowed hard and stepped back, suddenly unsure that he wanted to be that close.

In the end, it did not matter much. Gin focused on him and then immediately lunged, tackling him to the floor. Vodka, being unprepared for the assault, crashed down onto the cropped carpet and gasped, staring up at the crazed man. Gin gripped at Vodka's shoulders as he pressed his knee down over the other's chest, making it difficult to breathe. He was either not fully awake, he just did not recognize Vodka at the moment, or he was simply out of his mind.

Vodka did not bother to ponder over which it was. Desperately he grabbed Gin's wrists, afraid of what else the other might do if left to his own devices. "Bro," he gulped, looking up into the vacant, alarmed eyes, "it's me, remember? It's your partner. I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me up." He frantically wondered what he would do if Gin did not let him go and instead continued his attack. Vodka knew that he would have to fight back in defense, and yet the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Gin. He was trying to gain the blonde's trust again, and if he was forced to fight against him, that would not help at all. It would only make Gin all the more upset and distrusting.

Gin growled, not releasing the pressure. Instead he continued to glare down at Vodka, trembling and obviously believing himself to be elsewhere and that Vodka was someone else. At least, Vodka _hoped_ Gin thought he was someone else. But he was certain that Gin would not hurt him if he realized.

He tried to push the blonde away without hurting him, still holding onto his wrists. Vodka was the physically stronger of the two, though right now Gin was having an adrenaline rush and was clearly panicked, which currently was giving him an edge. He fell back, but immediately reached for his pillow, and before Vodka could stop him, Gin was trying to smother him.

Now Vodka was panicking. He could not breathe at all. Gin had cut off all circulation. It reminded him too much of when he had been drowning and the water had washed over him, suffocating him, until he had finally lost consciousness. Gin had been his savior then, but now Gin was trying to kill him. As Vodka again grappled with the other, trying to shove him back, the thought ran through his mind that maybe Aoshi had been right---perhaps it was too dangerous for Gin to be around the other agents. Perhaps he did need to be in isolation. But instantly Vodka was angry at himself for even thinking that. He knew that such confinement would only make it harder for Gin to recover, as he had told Aoshi. Gin needed kindness, he needed patience, he needed to have trust extended to him. . . .

The pressure loosened. Vodka stopped struggling, confused. He knew that he had not managed to push Gin away, so how was it that the green-eyed man had stopped? Vodka froze, his heart racing. Maybe Gin was going to try something else. . . .

Slowly the pillow was removed. Gin clutched at it tightly, staring at Vodka as if he did not and could not believe what he was seeing. Then he let out a shaking breath, tossing the pillow back onto his bed. He climbed down from Vodka's chest, kneeling on the floor and holding a hand to his forehead. After a moment Vodka sat up, puzzled. He could hear Gin muttering to himself, but he could not understand what was being said. Cautiously he moved closer, encouraged by the fact that Gin had voluntarily stopped the assault.

"Bro?" he said hesitantly. Gin ignored him, cursing low. He seemed shaken, and Vodka wondered if he dare do anything else. But finally he reached out, laying a hand firmly on Gin's shoulder.

That got the blonde's attention. He looked up instantly, his eyes flashing. This time, Vodka noted, there was recognition in those eyes. "Stay away from me!" Gin yelled then.

Startled, Vodka drew back. He watched Gin for a moment, unsure of exactly why he was saying this, and tried to sort out what to say in reply. Finally he asked, "Why, bro?" and then wondered if he should have. Perhaps he should have just left Gin alone, if that was what he wanted. . . .

Gin growled, pulling himself up onto the edge of his bed. "Look what they've done to me," he hissed, and hatred both for himself and for Portman flashed through the emerald orbs. "I nearly killed you! That's what they wanted. They wanted to see if it was possible to make me lose my mind. And I have!"

Vodka continued to stare at Gin. He did not know what it was that he had expected to hear, but it was not that. Slowly he got to his feet and went over to Gin, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. He mulled over things in his mind, trying to determine how to answer. He did not feel that he was good at this at all, and he was afraid that anything he said would only make it worse. But at last he decided to try anyway. He knew that he could not leave the conversation as it was.

"You're not crazy," he said at last, hoping that he sounded confident. Gin looked at him incredulously. Vodka struggled for the right words. "I mean . . . you know how they say that people who think they're crazy aren't really crazy at all, and that the really crazy people don't think they're crazy. . . ." He trailed off, looking away in discomfort from Gin's penetrating gaze. When he spoke again, he was addressing the floor.

"You've been through a lot, bro. . . . You've gone through things that I know I'll never understand. It wouldn't be reasonable to expect you to come back and be able to be okay, just like that. . . ." He swallowed hard. "It'll take time. . . ."

Gin was silent. After a moment Vodka dared to look up, wondering what the other was thinking. Was Gin angry? Did he think Vodka had spoken out of turn? Or maybe he was disgusted, thinking that it was ridiculous for Vodka to believe in him when he did not believe in himself. In any case, Vodka did not dare to say anything more. He waited, hoping that Gin would speak.

At last he did. The blonde looked over, his shaggy bangs falling across his eyes but still allowing part of them to be visible. "Did anyone ever tell you," he grunted, his expression unreadable, "that you should be a psychologist?"

Vodka blinked at him in shock. For a long moment he once again did not even know how to react. But then, slowly, he started to relax, gazing at Gin with relief. Perhaps it seemed a little thing, but the fact that Gin would make such a remark at this point in time was highly encouraging. Vodka had the feeling that Gin was slowly starting to accept that this was real. He was not certain exactly what would have triggered it, but he did not care. The important thing was that it was happening. There was still a long way to go, but now Vodka felt more reassured that a recovery would come.

"No," he replied then, echoing their conversation from before, "no one ever did."


	5. What I Found in This Town

**Notes: This chapter does make blatant reference to the Gin/Sherry pairing. And the dream and what follows were inspired in part by Aubrie's wonderful fic _Tomorrow We'll See_.**

**Chapter Four**

Vodka did not know how long he and Gin simply sat there in silence after their brief conversation ended. Something about the action made it almost seem like old times once again, and for a moment Vodka allowed himself to forget their problems and to think of it in that context. For that moment, there was not any Dr. Portman who had torn apart their lives. There was not any agony over an effect of something she had done. There was just the two of them, sitting quietly as they had done many times in the past. But then Gin started to pull himself up, dragging Vodka unwillingly back into the present situation.

As he watched, the blonde limped over to the door leading into the connecting bathroom, but then simply stopped and stared at it. Vodka blinked, confused, and watched him reach out several times for the doorknob but then draw back, as if uncertain of what would happen if he touched it. Then he half-turned, as if giving up on the idea altogether.

Vodka debated for a moment on if he should say anything at all, but then he finally cleared his throat and did. "Bro?"

Gin said nothing, but then he turned back to the door and again hesitantly reached for the knob. As before, he withdrew his hand at the last minute. If Vodka had seen his green eyes, he would have seen the confusion and turmoil within them.

Vodka wondered what to say in response to Gin's behavior. It was obvious that he was concerned about something, that something would go wrong if he touched the doorknob, but Vodka could not understand what that would be. "Bro . . . nothing's going to happen to you if you open the door," he said at last, and then fell silent, pondering over if he had said the correct thing.

Gin grunted. "Nothing?" he repeated, and looked back at Vodka, who nodded in surprise. Turning back to the door, Gin held out a finger cautiously and touched it to the metal of the knob before immediately pulling back. Then, encouraged, he reached out again with two fingers. When nothing happened again, he finally got the courage to put his hand on the doorknob and turn it. He disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind him.

There was not any electricity, or any needles, coming from the door. It seemed almost impossible and incredible. How could that be? That was all he had known for what seemed ages. Any time he or someone else tried to leave or enter a room when Portman did not want them to, they would be shocked with electricity, and often times stuck with a needle that would suddenly emerge from the knob when it was turned. Sometimes she would do it just to be sadistic, whether she actually cared where they went or not. But now there was nothing. He had been able to enter the room safely.

He looked to the bathtub and shower in the corner. He badly wanted to have a shower and wash his hair, but he wondered what would happen if he tried. More often than not, when he had tried to shower at Portman's base, the water would come out too hot or too cold, and stay that way. He was certain that had been on purpose, too. Some people, such as himself, had endured it as long as they could because they had wanted to get clean. Others had not been able to bear the extreme temperatures and had given up. Once, he had abandoned the practice himself after the water had suddenly turned even more scalding than it had been when he had first gotten into the tub. But now, he decided, the bedroom had seemed real, Vodka had seemed real, and the knob had turned peacefully, so perhaps it would not hurt to try the water here.

Slowly he turned the hot water faucet, then tested it. It felt normal enough, so he turned the cold water faucet as well, mixing the liquid until it came to a pleasant temperature. He studied it for a moment, wondering if it would actually stay that way, or if Portman was still lurking around and would make things much more miserable for him as soon as he tried to bathe. But in the end he decided to take the chance. Stripping off his torn pants and his boxers, he stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain.

The water initially felt good as it rained over him, but as he drew his hair aside to lather it with the shampoo, he hissed as the droplets beat over and into the welts that crisscrossed on his back. He moved further away from the pounding liquid as he squeezed the shampoo throughout his long locks and then began rubbing soap over his body.

Vodka remained in Gin's bedroom, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. Would Gin be upset if he came out of the bathroom and found that Vodka was not there? Would he believe all the more that he was still in a fantasy? Vodka could not get the memory of what Gin had said about the others always leaving out of his mind. It haunted him. The blonde had looked so exhausted and forlorn when he had said that. And there was always the chance that he was not in any kind of a physical condition that would enable him to stay standing in the tub for as long as it would take to have a shower. Whether he would want to admit it or not, he might end up needing help. And so for those reasons Vodka lingered, shifting in the chair and worrying about his partner.

He nearly jumped a mile when he heard a loud crash in the bathroom. Then, his eyes widening in realization, he got up and hurried over to the door. "Bro?" he called, but did not receive an answer. He hesitated for a long moment, knowing that Gin would not want to be barged in on, and then called again. Still there was not an answer, and Vodka decided he would have to risk the consequences of entering the bathroom. Quickly he turned the knob, relieved that Gin had not locked the door, and hurried inside.

He was not sure what he would see as he pulled the shower curtain aside, but it was not the sight of Gin sitting dazedly in the tub, rubbing at his head with one hand. He had apparently been too weakened to stand in the slippery bathtub, and had either lost his balance from dizziness or from slipping. But still, he was alive . . . and conscious. Vodka had half-expected to find him sprawled on the floor of the tub, stunned senseless from striking his head on the side of it.

Vodka let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. "Are . . . are you okay, bro?" he asked hesitantly.

Gin's head snapped up and he regarded Vodka with shock. Apparently he had not realized until now that the other had come into the room. "I'm fine," he retorted then, and shakily reached for the towel rack to pull himself up.

Vodka swallowed. "Maybe you should get out of the tub," he said slowly.

"I will when I'm ready," Gin answered flatly, and pulled the curtain across again.

Vodka sighed, knowing that it was not any use, and went back into the bedroom. But he could not sit still and he found himself pacing about until he heard the water being turned off. He looked up as the door opened a moment later and Gin came out, a towel wrapped around his waist as his wet hair billowed behind him. The green-eyed man glanced to Vodka, but did not speak as he gathered up underwear from the chest drawer and his robe from the closet. Vodka averted his eyes when Gin threw the towel aside to get dressed.

He wondered if Gin would possibly explain his strange behavior concerning the doorknob, but he rather doubted it. Gin was not the sort of person who would explain his actions, and whatever the reason for his hesitation, it probably had something to do with his captivity. Vodka wanted to know what that woman had done to his partner, but he was certain that Gin would not want to discuss any of it. He would bottle his pain up, as he had always done. Vodka had to worry, though, whether Gin would be able to fully recover from such a traumatizing experience if he never spoke of what had happened.

He turned back when he heard the other limping across the floor. With a sigh, Gin pulled back the comforter quilt and climbed into the bed, bringing the pillow close to him. He looked at it blearily, remembering how he had nearly killed Vodka with it, and then narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Whether this was reality or not, he hoped that he would not lose control of himself in that way again. He did not know how it had happened. All he knew was that he hated Portman and what she had done to his mind.

"Do you want anything, bro?"

He looked over at Vodka, who had come back over to the bed. "No," he mumbled then. "I just want to sleep." Normally he would have wanted to dry his hair first, but he was leery of the hair dryer at the moment. He did not want to be holding an electric appliance so close to him. After what he had been through, he feared being shocked at any given time.

Vodka nodded slowly and then hesitated. "Do you . . . still want me to stay?" he asked.

Gin grunted. "Yeah," he answered, his eyes closing involuntarily. He was still so worn out from everything. He had never gotten much sleep at Portman's base; at least, hardly any natural, undrugged sleep. Most of his slumbers there had been the results of stupors from the various toxins she had used on him. And any time when he had slept naturally, he had been constantly in terror, afraid of suddenly being awakened with a whip or some other cruel instrument.

Vodka slowly sank back into the chair, watching as his partner again drifted into sleep. He knew that Gin must still be feeling very ill and exhausted, to want to go right back into slumber. He had not been awake that long. And it still disturbed him, that Gin wanted him to remain there. That was not like the hardened, cold assassin whom Vodka had known for years. Gin seemed so vulnerable right now, and helpless, and Vodka wondered how to handle it. He knew that, whenever Gin finally fully accepted the reality of everything, that would only be the start of the healing process. And after the extremely long day and night, Vodka was already feeling it all start to take its toll on him. He wondered if he would able to be strong throughout what was to come. He hoped so. That was what Gin needed right now, for someone to support and comfort him, and to just be there for him.

---------------------------------

_Gin did not take kindly to being locked in Portman's cell. It made him furious and outraged, and as the time passed he grew even more so. He would spend the time thinking of exactly what he would do to her and her men once he got free, and in between, she would come and taunt him. She would tell him that it was his fault that Vodka was dead, and that the cage he was in was not real. It was all in Gin's mind, a product of his guilt. Whether he cared about Vodka or not, he was loyal to his partner and would not want to be responsible for getting him killed. Gin hated Portman and the things she would say. Every time she came by, his loathing only increased._

_He was absolutely bewildered one day, when he became aware that he was laying on something much more soft than the cot in his cell. As he sat up, taking in his surroundings, he realized that he was back in his room. His eyes widened in disbelief. He did not remember being moved! But . . . he could not have imagined all those days in the cell. It was not possible . . . was it?_

_He gripped the quilt tightly. Was it just one of Portman's tricks, or was he going mad? He hated that he was starting to seriously question his sanity. It was all that woman's doing! Oh, he despised her. He wished that she would die._

_"Good morning, Gin." There was her treacherous voice now, on the loudspeaker of which he still could not find the location. "I see that you're finally with us again. You've been sick the last few days. Maybe it was something you ate?" The fact that she could sound so incredibly calm and unruffled, even though he was being tortured, made him even angrier._

_"If it was something I ate, it's your fault," he hissed, throwing back the quilt and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "And you probably knew in the first place that it would make me ill."_

_"You're still so fiesty," Portman remarked, and again Gin knew that she was smirking. "Well, that only makes it all the more interesting."_

_He started to shakily attempt standing up. He found that he was quite weak, and as he stumbled and lost his balance, he had to grab onto the bedpost to keep himself upright. "You'll never have the pleasure of breaking me," he snapped. Having the feeling that Portman was watching as well as listening to him, he pushed himself away from the wood to try to manage without assistance and started to carefully make his way toward the bathroom._

_"We'll see," Portman replied smoothly. She did not say anything more at the moment, which Gin was perfectly content about, though it did make him wonder what she was up to now. He muttered, vanishing into the bathroom and shutting the door again behind him._

_Gin was able to have a perfectly normal shower, and when he stepped out of the tub and went to the part of the room that was the linen closet, he found that Portman or one of her men had laid out clean clothes for him. He eyed them suspiciously, then unfolded the various articles to make certain that there were not any hidden "surprises", before at last being satisfied and slowly getting dressed._

_For the moment, he had forgotten all about the unpleasant incident with the doorknob leading out of his room, and the last thing he expected was to have the problem with another door, but as soon as he gripped the bathroom doorknob to exit that room, a painful sensation spread throughout his body once again. This time it was worse than before, and his throat constricted as he gasped in agony. He could not even scream. When he was released from the force of the electricity a few long seconds later, he crumpled to the floor, unable to even stand right then._

_He lay on his side, shuddering, as his damp hair fell around him and over his eyes. He gazed through the shaggy bangs, not actually seeing much of anything. His vision swam in and out, and all he could think about was the burning that was sweeping through his body. He breathed heavily, wanting to find the strength to get up but knowing that at the moment it would be impossible to do so. He could not make himself move. He could not even think of doing so. And so he simply laid there for a time period the length of which he was unsure. After a while his eyelids grew heavy and he felt as if he would doze right there, on the floor._

_"Bro?"_

_He nearly choked. In shock, he blinked rapidly several times in an attempt to focus. But he could not look up. He heard footsteps approaching, however, and then he could see black dress shoes stopping on the floor near where he was._

_"Vodka," he mumbled, suddenly unsure whether he was dreaming or not, "I can't get up. . . ."_

_"I know." A sharp kick was delivered to Gin's ribs and he cried out, stunned more from the actual action and who was executing it rather than from the resulting physical pain._

_Gin again tried to weakly look up, but he still could not see beyond the dark shoes and part of the pant legs. "Why?" he managed to say after a moment. If he could have, he would have struggled to stand and attack Vodka right back for his betrayal, but when he tried to get up, his arms shook and he was kicked to the floor again._

_"I think you know why, bro," Vodka answered in a voice that was much too calm and quiet for Gin's liking, in light of what Vodka was doing. "You failed the mission. The target got away, and your bullheaded ways got me killed. You didn't even stop to think! You didn't care. All you could think about was making sure that your pride wasn't damaged!"_

_Gin was silent while he tried to digest this. Then he shuddered, struggling again to rise. As before, Vodka mercilessly kicked him down. The blonde hissed in pain and betrayal, gripping at the floor tiles as he tried to keep hold of his sanity as well. But that was not as easy to hold on to. "You can't be beating me," he said then. "You're dead. You said so yourself. . . ."_

_"I can beat you," Vodka answered, "in your dreams. You're not awake right now, Gin, but when you do wake up, you'll find that you really are injured." Gin had the feeling that the other was smirking maliciously. "And in your dreams, you're not going to be able to fight me back. I can beat you as much as I want. I can have my revenge for all the times you treated me like dirt, and how you ended up bringing my life to a close. And it will feel good! It does feel good, Gin. Now I know how you must feel, tracking down Sherry."_

_Now Gin felt something hard crack down over his shoulder blades. Vodka was hitting him with a towel rack. Refusing to let himself simply submit, Gin struggled again and again to get up, once managing to grab onto Vodka's leg in an attempt to drag him to the floor. "I didn't treat you poorly," he retorted, gasping in between being struck with the metal and beaten and kicked by the other's hands and feet. "I gave you more respect than I've given to most people! Do you think I wanted you dead? Do you?" He gripped tighter at Vodka's leg, and he could feel the other beginning to lose his balance. He would not allow this to happen, whether it was a dream or reality. He would fight!_

_"I don't care!" Vodka cried, his voice rising for the first time. Abandoning the towel rack, he gripped Gin's shoulders and shook him viciously, trying to stun him into letting go of his leg. "It was your fault that I was killed! I won't forgive you for that, Gin! I'll never forgive you for taking my life!" He shoved the other back with force, causing him to slam into the opposite wall._

_Gin growled in pain, slipping down into a sitting position on the floor. Dazed, he looked up at Vodka as the other came closer and bent down in front of him. Smirking, Vodka reached out to take hold of Gin's throat with his strong hands. Immediately Gin grabbed the other's wrists, trying to force him back. "This isn't real!" the green-eyed man yelled insistently. "You wouldn't hurt me like this. None of this is real!"_

_Vodka gave him a cruel look. "You don't want to believe it, bro, but that doesn't make it any less true. I hate you. Everyone ends up hating you in the end, don't they? First Akemi, then Sherry, and now me." He pressed his knee firmly into Gin's abdomen, and the blonde hissed as he found it more difficult to breathe. Again he struggled to throw his partner back._

_"You're not Vodka!" Gin retorted darkly, abruptly kicking out and managing to strike the other hard on the leg. Vodka was thrown off balance, enabling Gin to get away from his grasp._

_Now the blonde picked up the abandoned towel rack, clutching it tightly as he looked to Vodka with wild eyes, as if daring him to attack again. But instead of Vodka doing so, he simply stayed where he was and smirked, as if seeing something Gin did not see. Gin whirled around, trying to catch sight of what it was, and was suddenly clubbed hard in the chest by a second party._

_He fell back, gasping in agony and disbelief. There had not been anyone else in the room! How had someone else gotten inside? It did not make sense! He struck out, slamming the towel rack into the new attacker's legs and sending him back with a curse. But then Vodka was upon him again, lifting him off the floor and throwing him in the direction of the tub with gusto. Gin crashed into the enamel surface and sank to the floor dazedly, and those who had been assaulting him were suddenly all there at once, hitting and hurting. Gin yelled in frustration and pain, trying desperately to fight back. And though he managed to land several good blows, he was grossly outnumbered as four more joined the original two._

_Portman laughed quietly to herself as she sipped a glass of lemonade. "Poor Gin," she murmured. "He really is being beaten this time, though of course his partner isn't actually part of it. But as long as he thinks that's so, it certainly makes things more interesting."_

_"He looks like he's still holding his own," one of her lackeys remarked, watching the screen as the blonde punched one, then kicked at another._

_"Oh, of course," Portman grinned. "I wouldn't expect anything less of him. Even though he's weak, badly injured, and drugged, he still won't give in. He'll keep fighting back until he either collapses from exhaustion or else is subdued by the others, whichever comes first. And then the boys can really have their fun with him."_

_"I don't know," the henchman remarked hesitantly. "What if we're creating a monster? Maybe we won't be able to handle him. I have a feeling that he's just going to keep being really violent, not that I blame him. It's understandable, after what we've been putting him through."_

_"He can't be violent if he's physically and mentally broken," Portman answered smoothly. "It will take time, but don't worry. We'll get there." She leaned back, unconcerned, and only smirked more when she heard Gin cry out in agony._

_------------------------------------------- _

_An indeterminable amount of time later, Gin was alone again. He was still laying on the floor, crumpled on his side, and only semi-conscious. His body was aching, and he was furious. It had been an unfair fight. He could have won, if they had not ganged up on him as they had. He did not even know who any of them were, except Vodka. . . . And yet it could not have been Vodka, unless this truly was a dream. But it felt much too real to Gin._

I'm going out of my mind,_ he thought to himself. Weakly he moved his hand across the floor, trying to grip the tiles enough that he could force himself to rise. But his hand fell limp, and he knew that there was not anything he could do at the moment. _Vodka wasn't here. I'd have to have been hallucinating. Vodka's dead. . . . And he wouldn't hurt me if he wasn't. . . .

_But maybe that was only what Vodka had wanted Gin to believe. Memories came unbidden to Gin's mind, of when he and Vodka had been briefly made to question each other's loyalty. He had been told that Vodka never really cared about him, that Vodka was using him and that if he could, he would kill Gin to rise up in the ranks. But Gin had refused to believe it then, and he still thought it sounded absurd. He knew Vodka. He would not allow some idiot to come along and make Gin believe that he was completely clueless about what his partner was actually like. Gin had known him for so many years. Gin knew him better than anyone else did._

This isn't real,_ Gin told himself then._ I'm not actually hurt. It's all in my mind, just like before. I'll wake up on the floor and physically, I'll be fine._ Again he struggled to rise, and failing, he decided to simply lay there once more. Though he did not seem to have much choice._

_"Bro?"_

_He felt himself tensing at Vodka's voice. No, not again. He had been beaten enough. He had been tormented by his mind enough. "Go away," he muttered._

_Vodka walked across the room and sat down on the edge of the tub, close to where Gin was laying in agony on the floor. "I'm sorry, bro," he said, and his voice was tinged with obvious regret._

_Gin's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You're . . . sorry?" he choked out incredulously. "You're the main one who did this to me!" He raised his hand weakly and then dropped it to the cold floor._

"I wouldn't hurt you, bro. . . ." Vodka looked down at him, obvious concern for the other in his expression.

_Gin glowered at him. "Then why don't you help me instead of just sitting there watching me suffer?" he burst out, not even thinking about his words. Vodka was an illusion anyway. It did not matter what he said to something that did not even exist._

_Vodka did not look shocked, however, but only more regretful. "I can't help you," he answered. "Remember, Gin? I can't touch you. I'm dead. . . ."_

_Gin growled. "I know, and it's my fault," he muttered, only half-sarcastically. He tried to push himself across the floor using his arms. The door was partially open, if he could only reach it. But at this point it did not seem likely. His legs felt as if they were on fire. He did not think anything was broken, but amid the immense pain he was not sure._

_"It's not your fault," Vodka said firmly. "It's my own fault. I wasn't careful enough. I wanted to get you out of the way of the blast." He surveyed Gin's battered form, slowly shaking his head. "I guess I made things even worse for you."_

_Gin continued to struggle across the floor to where the door was. "You're not even here," he hissed, his hair falling across his face. "You're a figment of my imagination." And he wondered where he would awaken next time. Perhaps he would be back in his bed, as before, with Portman telling him he had experienced a bad fall, or something of the sort. Or maybe he would be in the cell again. Maybe even he would be back at the Black Organization's base. Whichever it was, he wished that it would happen before long, instead of being forced to go through this Hell. He was sick of these imaginary Vodkas bothering him, and he hated feeling as though he was being beaten but that he could not do anything about it._

_"I'm really here," Vodka responded calmly. "You're just really sick right now. You should rest."_

_"I'm not going to lay on the floor like a defeated man!" Gin snapped. He was halfway out of the bathroom now, and he felt a certain relief to touch the warm carpet of his room. He forced himself to go forward again. Once he reached his bed, he could climb up on it and go to sleep---or wake up, if he was already sleeping. Then this apparition would go away and leave him be._

_"But you are a defeated man, Gin," Vodka insisted, and Gin could hear him getting up and following. "You'll never recover now. Portman's getting the better of you. That's what she's wanted all along. You're just playing into her hands. You're only a shadow of your former self."_

_"Shut up." Gin had arrived at the foot of his bed. He reached up, grabbing the edge of the mattress as he tried to pull himself up onto it. He gritted his teeth in pain, but continued forcing himself anyway, and at last managed to get his arms up on it. From there he continued struggling, moving very carefully, until at last he was entirely on the bed. Then he went limp, exhausted and breathing heavily from the effort. He did not know how long it had taken him to come all this way. And he supposed that it did not matter anyway. It was not as if he had to be somewhere else at a certain time, he thought sarcastically._

_Vodka was quiet now, and Gin wondered if the other was still there. He hated what Vodka had said to him last. And what he hated the most was that he was afraid it was true. He was unwillingly helping that woman achieve what she had desired all along---to break him, to make him go insane. The very fact that he was conversing with Vodka testified to that. He knew the other was not actually there. He should ignore Vodka. If Gin ignored him, he would go away. The problem was, it was not easy to ignore him._

_Gin pulled the pillow down to him, laying his head against it. The softness of it and the mattress eased his pain somewhat, and he found himself dozing in exhaustion._

_--------------------------------------------- _

_It was not long before he was lost deep in a dream of the past. In his dream, he did not remember the year, or how old he was. It could not have happened so very long ago, and yet it seemed to be another lifetime._

_He was with Sherry then. . . . They were on the couch in the study of the manor where they had grown up together. It was late at night, and nearing wintertime, as a fire was roaring in the fireplace near the couch. He was gazing off into the distance, staring at something but not seeing it, and she was sitting next to him, gently running her hands through his hair. She was the only one whom he allowed to do that._

_She leaned forward, resting her head against his strong shoulder. "What are you thinking about?" she said softly._

_He grunted, but otherwise did not answer. He never burdened her with his thoughts, or the feelings he had concerning the murders he had committed for the Organization. He had felt such guilt at first, and had used nicotine as a way to drown it out, or to try to. And he had hated that even while feeling guilt, another part of him had felt satifaction at eliminating a traitor. He had not understood. He had not wanted to become what he was, a killing machine, a monster. That was how he had come to see himself, even as he had continued his work and had enjoyed the assignments more and more._

_And yet she still loved him. He did not understand how she could. But she had promised to always be there, and ever since he had returned home with his partner Vodka over four years ago, she had kept that vow._

_She put her arms around him now, kissing him softly on the cheek. He was a tortured man; she could see it clearly during times such as this. And while she hated what he had to do, for her it did not change the good that she saw in him. Her best friend, her protector, he still existed. She saw glimpes of him now and then. But she would be lying if she did not admit that he frightened her more frequently. She could see that he got a certain enjoyment out of what the Organization made him do. Many times she had felt a wall growing between them, but on nights such as this, it seemed to crumble somewhat and her hope would be renewed._

_He put out the cigarette he had been holding between his fingers and absently put an arm around her shoulders. He felt her soft, wavy, red hair against the palm of his hand, and he toyed with the locks slightly as he leaned back into the couch. He wanted it to stay like this, but he knew that was foolishness. Nothing would stay the same. The flow of time never stopped, and people were constantly changing. He wondered where they would be in six months . . . a week . . . a day._

_But then he pushed those thoughts aside. For now, there was only tonight._

_She kissed him again, then snuggled close and laid her head against his chest. His heart was still beating. He was still human, in spite of everything he believed about himself. He was not a complete monster. He was the one with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life._

_He put both arms around her now, holding her close to him. And he whispered her name, the name she was known by, as he studied her hair, her face, her eyes, and breathed in her scent. "Sherry . . ."_

_He snapped awake when he was kissed again. The study and the couch vanished, and he was laying on his back on his bed in the prison room that Portman had given to him. A raven-haired girl whom he had never seen before was at his side and laying her head against his chest. She was fully clothed, but he could see the seductive look in her eyes. A wave of disgust washed over him and he grabbed her arms, shoving her away from him._

_"Who are you and what are you doing in here?" he said indignantly, his eyes flashing with outrage. How dare she! Portman had no doubt allowed her to come inside. What was she trying to prove now?_

_"You wanted me here," she replied, her voice high-pitched and childish in some way. She looked at him with those same sultry bluish-lavender eyes, her straight black hair cascading down her back. "You were holding me, and stroking my hair." She giggled. "No sense trying to fight it." With that she tried to lean forward again, intending to kiss him on the lips._

_He slapped her roughly across the cheek and sat up in spite of his protesting body. He would not stand for this. She would leave him now. He would see to it that she did. He grabbed her wrists, holding her away from him as he shakily eased himself off the bed. He nearly crumpled to the floor, but somehow managed to stay upright as he dragged her off the bed and toward the door. "You're leaving right now," he growled, even as she struggled and protested. "I never asked for you to come here, and I don't want you." Noticing the door was slightly ajar, he pushed it open further with his foot and then shoved her into the hall, sending her sprawling onto the floor when she lost her balance._

_She cried out, then looked up at him with her own eyes flashing. "You're gonna regret that," she murmured in a dark, yet whining voice. "No one's turned me away before."_

_"Too bad," Gin snapped unsympathetically. Looking out at the deserted corridors, and gripping onto the wall, he slowly stepped out as well. He was in pain, but he would ignore it. The girl had made a fatal mistake by leaving the door partially open. He was determined to escape this time. Any pain he was in would pale in comparison to what would happen if he stayed._

_He could feel the brunette's eyes boring into him. Something was amiss. . . . He whirled around just as she lunged at him with a knife. Catching her wrist, he began to grip it in a very painful way, twisting it so that the knife was not pointing at him. She shrieked, struggling against him, but no matter what she did, he held on tightly. Finally in desperation, she pulled out a gun with her free hand, firing into his abdomen._

_His eyes widened in agony. He released her from his grasp and stumbled back to double over, clapping his hand over the wound. Blood seeped from between his fingers, and he felt it rising in his throat. He coughed, falling to his knees. The girl standing over him smirked wickedly, and when he looked up at her, she had changed into Sherry. He fell back in shock and disgust._

_"The girl's really there, Gin," Portman's voice came from somewhere, "or is she? And are you really wounded? That sort of injury is very painful. It takes a long time either to recover from it or to die." She laughed. "And you turned the girl away. Somehow I knew you would. It revolted you, to find her there instead of the one you were dreaming of, didn't it?"_

_Gin coughed again, slumping against the wall. This could not be a hallucination. It was too real . . . the blood, the pain, the dizziness. . . . Was Portman going to kill him now, or let him suffer for a while and then treat his wound before it became fatal? He shuddered, watching blankly as the crimson trails ran down his hand and onto the floor. And Sherry, Sherry had pulled the trigger. . . . Wait, it was not Sherry. . . . It was that other girl, the girl he had never met. . . . Or was he terribly confused? Had it been Sherry all along?_

_His vision blurred and he slumped further against the wall. This was not the death he had imagined. Nothing was as he had imagined. But then again, perhaps everything was what he was unwillingly imagining. He cursed weakly. He did not have any way of knowing. That was what was most frustrating of all. He was helpless._

_---------------------------------------- _

The next time Gin awoke, he wildly looked around the darkened room as before, then sprang into a sitting position. Portman was there, she must be there, watching him. Or else her men were. They never left him alone. Someone was always there, hiding in the shadows, waiting and observing to see what he would do next. He had been reduced to nothing more than a lab rat.

There! He caught sight of something out of the corner of his eyes. Someone was definitely there, just as he had believed. Without a second thought, he lunged. He would not let whoever it was get the better of him.

"Bro? Bro, it's okay. . . . No one's here. You're safe. . . ."

Gin felt hands touching him and he yelled, struggling desperately. The other held on firmly, but not unkindly, and through his loud protests, Gin was aware of the voice talking to him, trying to reassure him.

"It's just me. Portman isn't here. Her men aren't here. . . . Nothing like what she did is going to happen to you again." There was a pleading note in the voice, as if he was begging for Gin to calm down and be himself again.

Slowly Gin did. He recognized the voice as being Vodka's, and the other was holding onto him without hurting him, something that the apparitions in Gin's mind had never done. Either they would touch him to torment him, or else they would stay back, insisting that they could not help him because of being dead. But this Vodka was trying to help him. This Vodka was real. He had to be real. . . .

Gin looked up at the other. In his frenzy, Gin had grabbed onto Vodka's shoulders, his hands dangerously close to his partner's throat. Vodka was trying his best to restrain Gin without harming him, and the blonde had ended up coming quite close to him while Vodka was trying to remove Gin's hands from their current position. Vodka looked uncomfortable and distressed, and Gin could see his eyes, flickering with so many emotions.

"Vodka . . ." Gin murmured then, trying to quell his alarmed breathing. His hands dropped. "It's you. . . . You stayed. . . ." He looked up at the other in amazement and perhaps even a bit of awe. Not only was this Vodka real, but he had kept his word. He had not left. And to Gin, at this point, that was a very big thing. The Vodkas and the other people he had hallucinated about in the past had never kept any promises. In some way or another, they had all helped Portman advance her plans. They had all betrayed him.

Slowly Vodka nodded, easing Gin back onto the bed. His expression had become all the more uncomfortable upon seeing how Gin was looking at him. This was not the Gin he knew, and as the hours wore on, he was realizing more and more just how much the other had changed. One minute the blonde seemed to be mostly the way Vodka remembered, then the next he was panic-stricken and violent, and then he was insecure and vulnerable. Vodka could hardly stand it. He wanted Gin to be the way he always had been before---strong and silent, and flat-out refusing any help---and not just because he wanted Gin to get better. Vodka frankly did not know how long he would be able to endure seeing him like this.

He slumped back in the chair, absently pushing his sunglasses back up on his nose. It had only been a few hours, too. There was not any telling how long this might go on. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding, casting his gaze up to the ceiling. Somehow he had to find the strength to deal with this. Gin did not have anyone else whom he could rely on. If Vodka could not do this, then Aoshi was the only other option. And that was not something he wanted to subject his partner to. Gin would think of it as a betrayal. And, Vodka decided then, it would be one. It would be selfish to send Gin away. Aoshi would only think of him as a crazed animal, and treat him as such. He would not care about how Gin was suffering.

Vodka looked back to Gin, realizing how tired he himself was. He had only slept for a few moments during which he had undergone a dream that he would much rather forget. But he wondered if he could safely return to sleep. Gin's condition had definitely kept him at full awareness for hours now, both because Vodka was worried about him and because he wondered if Gin would attack him again.

"Just go back to sleep, bro," he said now, trying to quell a yawn that was suddenly upon him.

Gin grunted, turning painstakingly onto his side. "You'll stay?" he said urgently.

"Yeah. . . ." Vodka watched him, wondering how long this would go on. "I said I would. . . . I'll stay until you tell me to go."

Gin looked satisfied. This Vodka had remained there this long. Gin would trust him to continue staying. He settled back into the bed, dozing again.

Vodka shook his head slowly. It was almost, he thought to himself as he reflected on the look he had been given, as if Gin saw in him a kind of security, a protection against further torment. He wondered if that was possible. But then he frowned. That sounded ridiculous. It was probably just as he had thought earlier, that Gin was simply desperate to not be alone. Gin would not care who the person was at this point, as long as he had someone there. Still, Vodka could not stop himself from continuing to wonder.

He leaned back in the chair again, and it was not long before he found himself falling asleep as well. This time he did not dream---at least, not that he remembered.


	6. Prison Gates Won't Open Up For Me

**Notes: Starting with this chapter, titles may also be from Nickelback's _Savin' Me_ as well as Breaking Benjamin's _Breakdown_.  
**

**Chapter Five**

The remainder of the night passed by in relative peace, with both of the exhausted operatives being able to sleep. Vodka finally started awake hours later after nearly falling out of the chair. He barely managed to catch himself by grabbing the arm, and as he straightened up again, he looked around the room blearily, taking in the walls, the carpet, the empty bed. . . .

His eyes widened. He got up, wondering where on earth Gin had decided to go. Somehow he could not imagine the other leaving the suite in his condition. But would he have, believing again that he was actually at Portman's base? Maybe he would be desperately looking for an escape route. Nervously Vodka walked to the door leading into the living room and then simply stopped and blinked.

Gin was there, just wandering aimlessly around the room. He touched the top of a chair, then ran his hand along the wall, and finally opened the drawer of the small desk upon which he had his laptop. He rummaged through the contents, slowly pulling out a pack of cigarettes and staring at it.

Vodka stared at him for a moment, feelings of both relief and confusion washing over him, and then went out into the other room. He did not know what to say, or if there was anything he could say, and so he stood near the doorway mutely until Gin sensed someone watching and looked up. Vodka cleared his throat and shifted uncertainly.

"I . . . didn't know where you were, bro," he said at last. "I thought maybe you'd left. . . ."

Gin grunted, opening the package and removing a cigarette. Slowly he placed it in his mouth and then took out a lighter that was in the same drawer. He held the flame to the cigarette until it caught, and then he started to cough. Vodka was further confused until he realized that Gin most likely had not smoked very much, if at all, at Portman's lab. He had probably suffered withdrawl symptoms frequently, and from what Vodka knew about the woman, he could easily picture her laughing and allowing it to happen, figuring that it would only make Gin all the more of a weakened, broken man.

After a moment the coughing subsided and Gin sat down in the chair by the desk, draping his arm across the top of it as he smoked. "Was everyone taken prisoner by Portman?" he asked after a moment.

Vodka again stared, growing even more bewildered. "What do you mean, bro?" he asked then.

Gin looked over at him. "Vermouth, Chianti, Korn . . . Brandy . . . all of them," he answered.

Vodka gaped. "N-no," he stammered then. "We're at our base, Gin. Don't you remember? Portman isn't here." And he suddenly wondered where she actually was, and if she would ever come back to cause further trouble. He wished that they had been able to catch her and eliminate her so that the possibility of her tormenting Gin and the others again would not come to pass.

Gin blinked, looking confused. "She's not here?" he repeated, as if that was the most incredible and impossible thing that anyone could say to him. He cast his gaze around the room wildly. "She has to be here," he retorted. "She's never far away. She's probably tricked you into thinking she's left and that she'll let us go free!" He held the cigarette tightly between his fingers, nearly crushing it in his rising panic.

Vodka's shoulders slumped in despair as he watched his partner. Gin was still not anywhere near back to normal, but the other man supposed that it was amazing that he was as well off as he was, under the circumstances. Chardonnay and Sake had been even worse. Vodka had been the one to find Chardonnay, and he had hardly recognized her at all. She had shrieked and wailed like a banshee the moment he had gotten anywhere near her, and he had finally had to restrain her so that she would not try to kill herself or him with the knife she had held. He had been worried after that, wondering if he would find Gin and if his partner would be in the same state. He recalled that at first he had tried to tell himself that Gin most likely was not there, or that he would never end up anything like Chardonnay, and so he had been shocked and alarmed when he actually had found the other.

"Bro," he said then, "I don't know what to tell you. No one's going to hurt you now. . . ."

"You couldn't stop them from drugging me last night," Gin objected, and Vodka felt a sharp prick of guilt in his heart. He looked down, ashamed, knowing that it was true. Why would Gin truly feel any more safe after that had happened?

The blonde was silent now, smoking as he gazed off at the opposite wall. Vodka wondered what else Gin was thinking of while he was lost in his own world, and then Vodka wondered if he honestly wanted to know. Gin was probably blaming him for other things, things that Vodka blamed himself for as well. But Vodka did not really want to hear them voiced. He sighed softly, half-looking away.

"Are you hungry, bro?" he asked at last. Gin had not eaten anything since Vodka had found him the previous day. Surely he would want something to eat after all this time.

Gin shrugged. He was still feeling leery of food, recalling how Portman had always made certain to slip drugs into whatever she had given him. Of course, if this was real, then he no longer had to worry about that. Maybe he could get something that would not be easy to tamper with. "We'd have to go down to the cafeteria," he mumbled finally.

Vodka nodded slowly. "Or . . . I could go get something and bring it back," he offered.

Gin turned to look at him fully, and Vodka pulled back in astonishment and alarm at the empty look he saw there. "Would you?" the blonde replied. "If you go out there, Portman might still get you. You wouldn't come back."

Vodka very nearly felt like screaming. This was not something he could handle! How could he respond satisfactorily to Gin's concerns? How could he get the other to believe him? "She wouldn't get me! She's not here!" he cried after a moment, and then exhaled deeply. ". . . Would you want to come with me?" he said then, trying and succeeding to lower his voice to normal tones. He worried about taking Gin out of the suite, and yet on the other hand he wondered if it would be worse to leave him behind. It was so hard to know. Gin could suddenly attack someone if he felt threatened, but if he was alone he could work himself into a different sort of panic, believing that he would remain alone until Portman's men came to torment him again and he would have to fight to defend himself.

Gin gazed at him for a long time, as if contemplating his answer. But then he nodded slowly and started to get up from the chair. He did not want to be left alone.

He followed Vodka out into the hall very cautiously, taking his time to look up and down the corridor. All looked normal, and familiar, out there just as it had in the suite. He had been out here the previous night. He had to remember that. He knew that Portman's base was not here, and yet it was so very hard to always keep that in mind. When he heard a door open nearby, he tensed immensely. For a moment he froze like a trapped animal, and then he turned and started to walk briskly in the opposite direction. Vodka looked after him helplessly before quickly following.

He wondered if he should say anything at all to his partner, or if he should stay silent. The agent who had just emerged was Brandy, not someone whom Vodka wanted to encounter. He had certainly given them their share of problems in the past. He had even bluffed his way out of certain death at one point by claiming that one of the agents whom he had been training had disguised himself as Brandy in order to attempt killing Gin, Vodka, and several other important operatives at Vermouth's villa. No one had been able to prove otherwise, and so Brandy had stayed. But Vodka still was certain that it definitely had been Brandy, and not an imposter, who had attacked them. For some reason, he seemed to hold a particular grudge against both Gin and Vodka, and the heavyset man decided that it would be better not to attract his attention. And so he quickly and quietly followed Gin.

The ride down to the main floor was silent, with Gin still obviously edgy and anxious, and Vodka not being able to think of anything to say to him. Vodka wondered if the tension he felt in the air was real or imagined. He was still sure that Gin was blaming him, recalling both Gin's words a few moments ago and his accusing eyes from the past night. With a soft sigh, he leaned back against the side of the elevator and gazed blankly at the ceiling.

At last the machine came to a halt and the doors opened. Gin stood watching, apparently not wanting to make the first move. Vodka was about to go out himself when the blonde took several tentative steps forward. The other stopped and waited, not certain what he was supposed to do, and then simply watched as Gin wandered onto the floor. Then he followed.

He hated the stares of the other agents they passed. Some of them looked sympathetic, as if saying, "Poor Gin", or "So he really is back. He looks even worse than we were told", or even "Vodka, you poor man. How are you going to handle your partner in the condition he's in now?" Others looked alarmed, as if wondering, "Will Gin go crazy again and attack all of us?" "What's Vodka thinking?" And still others regarded them with disgust. Vodka could imagine their thoughts as well. "What's he doing out already? He should be in isolation!" "Aoshi wanted to keep him there, but Vodka wouldn't let him." "He's endangering everyone on the base for that man! Why?"

Vodka swallowed hard, forcing himself to look ahead, as Gin was doing. Surely Gin felt the gazes too. But the emerald-eyed man paid no heed to them, at least not outwardly. His eyes were completely concealed behind the long bangs, as always. Calmly and firmly he walked into the cafeteria and began studying the various types of food available through the glass of the long counter. Suddenly realizing that he had become the follower again, and not the leader, Vodka went in after him.

A young, high-pitched voice startled them both out of their silent reveries and caused them to look up at shock at the girl working the counter.

"Gin!" she exclaimed, leaning forward over the top of the case and placing her hands on it. Her brown eyes were wide with shock, and as she moved, her short, flipped blondish-white hair swished across her cheeks. She was no more than sixteen, and as an agent still in training, she often was assigned to work in the cafeteria or other such places. Due to this, she saw Gin and Vodka many times, and she had never gotten used to seeing Vodka come in by himself as of late. Now she smiled a bit. "So it's really true," she said now. "You really were found. I'd heard rumors, but . . ."

Gin looked at her with his gaze of emerald ice. At the moment he seemed quite like himself, but Vodka was not willing to trust that it would last long. Vodka was also not sure what to say to the young girl, though he finally decided that it should be as brief as possible. On the one hand, he thought that something needed to be explained about Gin, and yet he knew how much Gin hated to be talked about, or around.

"I found him yesterday," Vodka replied then, and gave her his order. It was amazing, that so much could happen in less than twenty-four hours. Sometimes it just did not seem possible that it could. He swallowed hard. "I'm sure you heard that Portman didn't treat him, or Chardonnay and Sake, very well. . . ." He was hoping that would be enough of a hint that Gin would most likely want to be left alone.

The girl nodded seriously. "Well, I'm just glad to see you're back, Gin," she said then, looking back to the blonde assassin.

Gin grunted in the back of his throat, then told her what he had decided on eating. He was definitely not in the mood for conversation---not that he ever was---and luckily for all concerned, the agent in training could see that he was even more taciturn than usual. She did not press him for answers, and instead swiftly fixed up the food for him and Vodka. She noticed that Gin watched her intently as she did so, and she had to admit that it made her feel somewhat nervous, but she did not ask questions. Vodka seemed anxious too, and from the way he was looking at her, even from behind the sunglasses, she was certain that he was silently pleading with her to leave the matter alone.

It was only a few minutes later that Gin and Vodka were back in their own suite. They rarely ate in the cafeteria, and they especially did not want to right now, as they knew that then they would have to continue enduring the stares. Vodka let out a soft sigh of relief as he opened the door and went in, followed by Gin.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked finally, setting the food down on the coffee table.

Gin shrugged, sinking down into a chair. He supposed not. They were safe, at any rate. Nothing had happened, no one had tried to attack. . . . If it was in his mind, surely something would have gone wrong. Something always went wrong. He supposed it still could, but he did not want to think about it. He wanted to believe in this reality. He knew that unless he could, he could not very easily begin to heal. But wanting something and actually being able to do something were two entirely different things. Still, he had made several steps to attempt it, which Vodka recognized and was pleased about.

Slowly Gin reached for one of the styrofoam take-out containers. Without a word, he opened it and began to eat. Vodka watched him for a moment, then followed suit.

* * *

_By now two more days had passed and Gin had been missing for one long, agonizing week. Vodka was still in Okinawa, trying desperately to fit the jagged puzzle pieces together and to figure out how Chardonnay and Sake's disappearance could possibly relate to Gin's. He had registered at the same hotel, in the same suite, but he had not found any clues there that could help. Of course the room had been cleaned before his arrival, and upon asking, he had been told that the maids had not found anything out of the ordinary._

_And he still could not forget that strange woman's words. More often than he would like, he had seen Vivalene's beautiful yet twisted face, her wicked smirk, as she had blatantly accused him of killing Gin. He could not understand why she would say such a thing. She would not have any reason to believe that he would betray his partner like that. Perhaps it was just that she was that dishonorable herself, and she imagined others being the same way._

_Vodka could imagine that quite easily. He had sensed something about her, an evil quality that set her apart even from the agents of the Black Organization. From an early age, they were taught to be unwaveringly loyal to their comrades. But Vivalene would scoff and scorn at such teachings, Vodka was certain. She would not care who got hurt or killed in her quest for power, or riches, or whatever it was that she desired._

_Now, as he sat in a chair by the picture window and quietly smoked, he wondered if possibly Vivalene did know more about the missing female agents than she had led him to believe. Was it at all conceivable that Sake could have betrayed Chardonnay, and Vivalene knew? Vodka frowned, narrowing his eyes behind the dark glasses. That sounded ridiculous. Sake was a good agent, and she had never hinted that she was unhappy working with Chardonnay, even though the other's cheerfulness had seemed to irritate her at times._

_Still, even if he did not want to consider that, he knew that he should go talk to Vivalene once again. She might have some kind of important information. The only question was whether she would tell him or not. And he sighed, knowing that she must have seen how on edge he had been while trying to speak with her before. That would only make someone of her kind all the more eager to play her tricks. At least that was what Gin would tell him. And it did make a lot of sense._

_Poor Gin. . . . Vodka knew that the other must surely be suffering. He thought about it almost constantly. Logically, it seemed to be the only thing that could be true, though he hated to imagine it. Vodka felt a certain panic, as if he must not waste any time at all in locating the other. But it was not that simple. He kept running into so many dead ends._

_He was startled out of his thoughts by the sharp ringing of the telephone. Putting out his cigarette, he got up and went over to it, lifting the receiver. "Hello?"_

_He could not have been more surprised at who was on the other end. "Hello, darling," Vivalene's unmistakable voice purred._

_Vodka nearly dropped the phone. A deep red color began to move across his cheeks. He stammered over a reply before finally choking out, "H-hello, Ms. Arnold. . . . I wasn't expecting to hear from you. . . ."_

_"Oh, that's quite obvious," she said, and he was certain she must be smirking in amusement. "But what's with this formal 'Ms. Arnold'?" she mock-pouted. "You can feel free to call me Vivalene, Vodka."_

_The poor man only continued to flush. "I know," he mumbled, speaking more to the floor than into the telephone._

_Vivalene laughed in delight. "Well, anyway, I just haven't been able to get your plight out of my mind," she told him. "You're here looking for information that will lead you to your unfortunate partner, and I just remembered something that might help."_

_Vodka blinked in astonishment. "What's that?" he asked._

_"Oh, I just hate talking over such things on the phone," she smiled. "How about we discuss it at dinner? My place, seven o'clock?"_

_It was times like this that Vodka desperately wished he had Gin's forcefulness. The blonde would strongly protest, and he would be listened to. But Vodka's feeble attempts to say no to a woman like Vivalene would quickly be shot down. That did not stop him from trying, however. "Dinner?" he exclaimed in disbelief._

_"Why of course!" she said airily. "Even assassins have to eat, hmm? I always make it a point to mix business with pleasure whenever I can."_

_Vodka shifted uneasily. "Maybe we should meet somewhere," he suggested. "I could easily come to your office again. . . ."_

_"I know, but that's such a drag," Vivalene interrupted with a purr._

_"Even a restaurant," Vodka tried again._

_"It's too noisy in restaurants! My place will be perfect, darling---quiet, serene . . . the best food you'll ever have. . . . I'll see you there." Before Vodka could get in a word of protest, Vivalene had given him directions and then hung up._

_The bewildered man was left standing where he was, gaping at the telephone. At last, coming to his senses, he placed the receiver back in the cradle and ran a hand over his forehead. What had he just gotten himself into?  
_

* * *

_The first thing Gin felt as he came back to awareness was the strong, rough hand that had suddenly wrapped itself around his throat. He gasped for breath, his green eyes snapping open to stare at the one attempting an assault. His vision blurred, but he did not recognize the person even when it cleared. This man had Vodka's build and Gin's height, and his brown hair fell limply to his shoulders. He was sneering cruelly as his grip tightened, and Gin's hands flew up to clutch the beefy wrist. He had to loosen the grip. . . . He could not let himself be overpowered! He would not die, not here, not now. . . . Desperately he clawed, digging his nails roughly into the other's flesh, but it did not seem to phase him._

_Gin kicked out, slamming his foot hard into the attacker's stomach. The other grunted, his iron grip momentarily relaxing. Gin used the opportunity to wrench the hand free and punch the brunette viciously. As he fell back, Gin lunged forward, tackling him and bringing him to the floor. His eyes flashed with hatred._

_"What are you doing?" he demanded, hitting his nemesis again when he showed signs of recovering._

_The other grinned, spitting blood from his cut lip at Gin. "It's frustrating, isn't it? All of it's so damaging to your pride---the drugs, the hallucinations, the attacks, the helplessness . . . and that feeling of helplessness, more than anything else, angers you."_

_Gin dodged the crimson liquid, at the same time never letting up the pressure on his opponent. "Why spend time telling me things you think I already know?" he retorted. With his knee, he pressed down hard on the other man's chest. He could see that the brown-haired man was having trouble breathing, and he felt a certain exhilaration at finally having the upper hand after everything he had been through._

_The grin widened. "Why? Because . . . it helps to distract you!" he cackled._

_Realization flashed through Gin's eyes, and he released his prisoner just in time to duck from another attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a club smash to the floor right where he had been a moment before. He growled, forcing himself to stand up straight and knowing that he would be in for another battle. His body was still aching from the previous one, but part of his training had been on how to keep going even after being injured. The sleep he had gone through had definitely helped somewhat, as he recalled not even being able to get up before---unless that had been part of an illusion as well. Maybe even this was still the illusion. He had no way of knowing anymore. Portman's treatment was definitely having its desired effect. Angrily Gin clenched a fist._

_"It won't be as easy to get to me this time," he said darkly. "I swear it."_

_The first man sat up now from where he had rolled to on the floor in order to avoid the club. "Oh, I think it will be easier," he smiled, "since you're still weakened." He got to his feet, and both of Portman's minions started to advance at once._

_Gin looked around wildly for a weapon, but in the bare corridor there was nothing he could use. As the club was swung again, he reached out and caught it between his hands, gripping tightly. He struggled to wrench it away from the wielder's grasp, but before he could succeed, a cord went around his neck from behind and went taut. His eyes widened._

_Forced to let go of the wooden weapon, he grabbed for the cord, trying frantically to get his fingers under it and pull it away. His neck was still sore from when he had been half-choked several minutes previous, and this was not helping. Another violent tug came on the noose and Gin was jerked backwards, nearly losing his balance in the process. He stumbled, trying to get his footing, and then hissed in pain as the club suddenly connected with his shoulder. Not knowing what to do, and feeling that treacherous helplessness again, the blonde still worked to get the pressure around his neck loosened. That was the most important thing, but it was nearly impossible to concentrate while being struck with the bat._

_He felt a bead of nervous perspiration trickle down the side of his face as the cord tightened. He had to get free. . . . He could barely breathe at all. . . . He could not die like this. . . . He did not want to die. . . . He had to get free. . . ._

_And somehow, he did. Receiving a sudden burst of strength, he reached higher and caught hold of a wrist. Squeezing hard, he hit a pressure point and his attacker screamed, letting go of the cord. Gin then grabbed it, pulling it free from the other hand, and whirled, using it to crack at the other person like a whip. "Stay away from me!" he screamed, his eyes aflame._

_The person backed up, looking briefly surprised and then angry. He swung the club at Gin again, but missed, and the cord wrapped around the wood. Gin gave a sharp tug, and the weapon flew free, whereupon Gin caught it and advanced on the second attacker._

_"I'm sick of you people ganging up on me!" he said darkly, his eyes flashing with his hatred and outrage. He swung the club, forcing the other to dive out of the way. Gin continued to advance, managing to land several painful blows as he backed the other man towards a corner. More than once Portman's lackey tried to grab the club back, but he never succeeded._

_Gin almost had him against the wall when the blonde felt something harsh slam into his back. He gasped, falling forward and losing his grip on the weapon. Seeing his chance, the thug advanced, landing a fierce punch to Gin's cheek as he snatched the bat up from where it had clunked to the floor. Gin growled, trying to straighten up and ignore the pounding pain spreading throughout his back, but before he could, he was struck again and he crashed to the hard tiles._

_Furious now, he struggled up and lunged at the nearest person. He slammed the other man against the wall, viciously punching him. He was not going to sit back and allow himself to be tortured as long as he could fight. He could feel his body protesting more strongly, but he still ignored it. His fury and panic took precedence over any pain._

_Then he was tackled at his previously injured side, and he cried out as he went crashing to the floor. Quickly he recovered, struggling with the second man for the upper hand. Despite his weakness from the other beatings, Gin managed to overpower his opponent and in the end, he broke free from them both and dashed around the nearest corner._

_That was when he found that he had run right to a balcony overlooking a large, bare room sporting more than a few bloodstains. He cursed, turning to find another way out, but saw that the original two men had been joined by six others and that all of them were coming toward him. He was trapped. He growled, forced to back up as they advanced. This was unacceptable._

_He had been wounded several times during the last few moments, and he was ignoring that as well. His right arm was bleeding, as were his left leg and his shoulder. At some point during the battle, the first man had pulled out a knife, and though Gin had fought back and tried to avoid it, he had ended up stabbed those three times. He was certain that it would not have happened if he was in top form. He was normally very crafty and able to dodge such assaults._

_He wondered if he could use the balcony to his advantage. At any rate, he certainly intended to try. When the first person lunged at him, Gin grabbed the other's arm and twisted it sharply, shoving the thug against and half over the railing. Apparently not having any fear of what could happen, the lackey quickly retaliated, reaching to grab Gin and attempt to throw him overboard. But the blonde was expecting that, and he was quicker, and his attacker yelped as he lost his balance and fell completely over, crashing to the floor below. Gin could hear him cursing as he hit the bottom._

_Throughout the brawl that followed, Gin was able to defeat three others in various ways---punching, twisting limbs, and using their tricks against them---though he was becoming increasingly weakened himself. Even though he knew he would not last, he had vowed to fight tooth and nail against every one who challenged him._

_It was much more difficult to fight off the next one. He was physically much stronger than Gin was at the time, and soon had the blonde pressed against the railing while trying to throw him overboard. Gin struggled as hard as he could, first kicking at the other and then trying to find a pressure point to squeeze, but that did not work this time. He was hanging partially over the railing, upsidedown, and he knew it was likely that he would fall. But he would not go alone. He grabbed the attacker's wrists even more tightly as the railing suddenly broke free, and they both plummeted to the floor below._

_Gin let out a gasp of pain as he slammed onto the floor on his hands and stomach. Then he slumped down, relieved that at least he had been able to brace the fall somewhat by using his hands. But he could not get up. He was too badly injured to even try at first, and when he had the strength to attempt it, he was held down fiercely. "Let me up!" he screamed, trying once more to rise._

_He heard a cold chuckle as his hair was brushed to the side and the back of his shirt was sliced open with a knife. He felt some of his skin being cut into as well, and he quickly dropped back to the floor until he was certain that the weapon had been put away. Now what were they going to do to him? The person who had ripped his shirt was still sitting on his legs, preventing him from standing, and as he tried to at least get up enough to partially turn around, another came and forced his head back to the floor, then held onto his arms. His eyes widened as he felt some of the wounds being pressed on. Growling, he fought desperately to get free._

_Suddenly something cracked over his back. He froze, feeling a sudden, fierce, stinging pain. For a moment he was not sure at all what it was, but then he felt it again, and again. He recognized it then. They were whipping him, and laughing in delight while they were doing it._

**Crack. . . .**

_He clenched his fists tightly, feeling another vicious lash across his shoulder blades. He hated this. To be flogged, especially while being held to the floor, was such an ignoble, humiliating, and demeaning experience. He knew that was what Portman had intended, and he despised her and her men all the more for it._

**Crack. . . .**

_Whether he would admit it or not, he hated the pain as well. His entire back was on fire, and after the other things he had experienced, so was the rest of his body. He had felt those sensations before, but now, somehow, he just felt so drained in addition to all of it. He could not move, no matter how hard he tried. He could only jerk as the instrument raked into his flesh repeatedly, and even those movements lessened after a while. At some point, he simply lay still, not resisting at all as the torment continued._

**Crack. . . .**

_He gazed ahead at nothing, his vision having grown blurred. He was lapsing into semi-consciousness, both from the pain and from the loss of blood due to his earlier wounds. He still felt the leather strips tearing into his back, and sometimes striking again where they had already landed before, but he did not have the strength any longer to react._

**Crack. . . .**

_During such times of suffering, thoughts often enter people's minds that ordinarily would not. As Gin lay sprawled and restrained on the floor while the flogging continued and the blood dripped from his previous injuries, his vision dissipated all the more and he was left wondering if he was going blind, though he did not think it was likely. He was probably falling unconscious._

**Crack. . . .**

_He coughed weakly, barely noticing._ Where are you, Vodka?_ he thought to himself, suddenly realizing that his hands were being enveloped by a sticky substance. He had broken the skin on both of his palms from clenching his fists tightly against the pain. But the news meant little to him. He was already so badly hurt, what difference did one more thing make?_

**Crack. . . .**

I never found out if you really are dead. If you aren't, why haven't you found me? Why haven't you come to get me out of this place? You're my partner . . . you're supposed to be loyal to me, as I would be to you if this situation was reversed. Don't you know where I am? Or do you know, but you haven't decided to come? . . . Or do they have you already, and they're torturing you somewhere else? Vodka. . . ._ Gin shut his eyes tightly, his hands unclenching and falling limp._ I need you. . . . You're not here and I need you. . . .

_He was shocked at himself for these thoughts, once it fully registered what he had actually said. He did not need anyone; he was too proud to have need of another human being. And yet, it was completely dawning on him that he could not get out of here by himself. He hated that truth, he hated the desperation he felt. And he both hated and was confused by the intense feeling that he did indeed need someone, that he even wanted someone. The last thing he wanted was for Vodka to see him in this condition, so helpless and broken, but at the same time he wanted the other there. Vodka was the one person who would take care of Gin and whom Gin would trust to do it without judging or belittling. Vodka would never look down on the blonde, thinking him weak, but that knowledge did not stop Gin's proud feelings. And Gin's proud feelings could not stop these other feelings, this intense longing for Vodka to come and get him out of there._

_The whipping had stopped. Gin only noticed this now, and almost as soon as he did, he felt a sharp kick in the ribs. But not even that could get a reaction out of him, save for a weakened moan, which he hated himself for as soon as it had torn free from his lips._

_Cruel laughter echoed boisterously around him, and he was kicked again. "You still with us?" taunted the thug who had been holding down Gin's arms. Taking both wrists in one beefy hand, he reached out and struck Gin violently across the face. The blonde nearly started but could not muster the strength. His green eyes slid open weakly, and he tried to focus. The other's cruel, twisted features came into view._

_"Look, boys, he's still alive, and even still conscious," the man smirked. "Most people would've passed out by now, especially since this isn't the first beating he's taken in twenty-four hours."_

_More laughter. "Well, the boss knows how to pick the fun ones," said a second. The whip lashed across Gin's back once again, followed by a bored curse from its wielder. "But it's less fun when they get weary like this," he remarked. "I wanna see him fight back more! I wanna see that vicious spirit again!"_

_Suddenly Gin was grabbed by the hair, his attacker forcing the assassin's head back. Then the man leaned over into the blonde's line of vision. "Can you see anything?" he grinned, blowing on Gin's bangs to make them drift away from his eyes._

_Gin glowered, using a last bit of strength to try to pull free from the harsh grip. This only amused the thug all the more, and he finally released Gin with a shove._

_"There's still some of that fighting spirit left," he sneered. "How about we see if we can bring any more of it out?"_

_The others quickly agreed, all laughing as well, and before Gin could even stop to fully process what was being said, they were striking him and beating him with all manner of cruel weapons._

_His eyes widened in pain at the first blows, then narrowed darkly. Oh, how he loathed all of them. He wanted so much to struggle up, to fight back, to make them pay for this . . . but he did not have any strength. His body went slack again as he gazed off at the wall, forced to endure what they were putting him through. Again he wished that Vodka was there. But he knew that the other could not come. He was alone. And if Vodka was dead, he always would be.  
_

* * *

_Vodka was not any more happy about the dinner when the time for it came than he had been upon first learning of it from Vivalene. It was possible that she did not even have anything that she could really tell him. That might only be an excuse to get him there, for all he would know. But he could not take the chance. That was why he had sighed in resignation and taken a taxi to Vivalene's house, and why he was now being led through the spacious, richly decorated hallways of the mansion by a butler. When they stopped in front of the dining hall, Vodka braced himself before going inside. He could almost hear Gin telling him that he needed to be extremely careful around such a woman._

_The dining room was dimly lit, as Vivalene's office had been, and candles had been set up on the long table. Many lavish dishes were there as well, and Vivalene herself was sitting at the far end of the rectangular piece of furniture. Her red hair fell in wavy curls upon her shoulders, and she was adorned in a black strapless dress that highlighted her locks and her eyes. The long gloves she wore matched the dress, and when she caught sight of Vodka, she immediately got up and walked over to him._

_"Darling, it's so good to see you! Come in, come in!" she purred, taking his hand and leading the poor, dumbfounded man to the table. "You'll sit by me, of course, won't you?" she smiled, indicating the chair closest to her on her right._

_Vodka tried to find his voice. "Y-yeah . . . if you want me to," he answered at last, and found himself sinking into the chair. He could feel Vivalene's hands move over his shoulders and immediately crimson spread across his cheeks._

_Vivalene laughed softly in delight. "Won't you take those sunglasses off tonight?" she said, going to her own seat and taking it. Then she leaned over, reaching to remove the dark glasses herself. "I've never seen your eyes. I wonder what color they are---brown? Blue? Green, like mine? Lavender, even? Or gray?"_

_Vodka brushed her hands away uncomfortably. "I'd rather leave the glasses on, if you don't mind," he said, shifting in his seat. This line of conversation reminded him of some of Vermouth's teasings, but at least Vermouth had respected Vodka's privacy and had never tried to take the sunglasses off. And Vermouth would never accuse Vodka of harming Gin. . . ._

_Vivalene mock-pouted as she started to dish up her food. "Oh, don't I ever get to see?" she said smoothly. "You're so shy, Vodka. I wonder, does anyone ever see your eyes?" She passed the bowl of mashed potatoes on to him and he took it, dishing up the food. "Maybe your partner does, hmm?" she continued._

_He looked at her, not entirely certain he liked what she was insinuating. "What do you mean?" he asked, using a knife to take a couple of slices of the main course---a roast chicken._

_Vivalene used the ladle to spoon gravy over her food, then passed it along. "Well, I could mean several things by it," she told him. "After all, I know the two of you share a suite. You probably see both the best and the worst of each other." She laced her fingers and then laid her chin on them. "Forgive me, I should say 'saw,'" she amended._

_Vodka glared at his plate. "He's not dead," he mumbled, taking the fork and holding the meat steady while he cut it into bite-sized pieces with the knife._

_"Oh, of course not, darling," Vivalene smiled, and began to eat._

_"Tell me," she said after a moment of uneasy silence, "is it worth it? Looking for him, I mean."_

_Vodka looked up at her in shock. It was all he could do to not demand to know what was wrong with her, how she could be so bold and brazen. He knew that Gin would just tell her it was not her business, but he was not accustomed to saying such things, and especially not to a woman._

_Vivalene took a sip of the champagne. "Well," she said slowly, "I'm only asking because of course I've heard about what kind of a person Gin is. Very cold, and proud, and not a people person in the least. Will he appreciate your efforts, Vodka? He'll probably hate that he has to be rescued by anyone, maybe especially his partner."_

_Vodka swallowed too fast and immediately starting coughing. Vivalene handed him a glass of water in a blasé manner, and he took it, downing half of it almost instantly. "Why . . . why do you keep changing your mind?" he sputtered then. "First you act like I killed him, now you act like I'm telling you the truth. And all the while you're playing with my mind!" He certainly did not intend to tell her anything, and most definitely not any of his personal insecurities. Maybe her charms worked on many other men, but they would not work on him._

_Perhaps a part of him did wonder exactly how Gin would react upon being found. But if he truly was being tortured, as Vodka increasingly felt was the case, then the blonde's feelings would probably be mixed. He would despise being seen in such a condition, but he would be relieved to finally be free. At least, that was what Vodka hoped. More than that, though, he simply hoped that Gin would still be alive._

_  
"Oh, it's your imagination, darling," Vivalene replied then, bringing him back to the present. "It's just that my opinion changes as time goes by. I never really thought you killed him, you know, but I like to touch all the bases. And I'm just wondering how grateful Gin will be for your efforts. All of this is for him, right? I mean, you're not planning to find him because you're hoping to get a promotion, are you?"_

_Vodka gulped down more of the water, trying to keep his temper under control. This woman was seriously trying his patience. She was still playing with his mind as if it was a toy, trying to determine how it worked, and why, and she had no right. Of course his searching was for Gin. He did not have any intention of trying to rise in the ranks right now. He just wanted to bring Gin back safely. Just because Vivalene obviously did not have any scruples at all, it did not mean that Vodka was the same way, even though they were both on the wrong side of the law._

_"You said you had something to tell me," he pointed out. "Why don't we talk about that?"_

_"Oh, but it's so much fun to talk about you," Vivalene purred. "However, you've been a good boy, so I'll reward you with the information that might help you." She took another bite of meat, chewed and swallowed, and drank a bit more champagne before answering._

_"As the girls were leaving," she reported, "I noticed that they stopped to talk with someone else who had come to see me---a doctor by the name of Alice Portman. The strange thing was, Portman seemed to know their identities, even though that had not leaked out. And they didn't seem shocked, either. It was as if they had met before." She shook her head, reaching for the gravy bowl again. "You know, I can't imagine how I forgot that," she mused. "It really was odd, for them to talk with her like that. But then Portman came in and we got down to business immediately, so obviously it all slipped my mind!"_

_Vodka had to wonder if that was true. It seemed rather convenient, that Vivalene had "forgotten" it. "What business does this Portman woman have with you?" he asked then, relieved to be back on the subject at hand._

_"Oh . . . she designs things for me," Vivalene said vaguely, "and sometimes offers ideas. She's a scientist."_

_Vodka nodded slowly. He could see that she did not want to say a lot about Portman, but he would get to that in a moment. "Does she live here on Okinawa?" he wanted to know._

_"She's from Oregon, in America," Vivalene smiled. "She's only visiting Japan, and I believe she said that she would be in Tokyo for a while."_

_Vodka swallowed. "How long ago did she go there?" he asked._

_"A few weeks ago, shortly after those female agents vanished, actually," Vivalene replied._

_Vodka did not like the sound of that. "Would she have had any reason to take them?" He cut another bite-sized portion of meat._

_Vivalene swirled the remaining champagne around in her goblet. "Well . . ." she mused slowly, as if determining how much to tell. Vodka gripped the fork tightly. Vivalene smiled. "I've heard rumors. . . ."_

_Vodka gave her a firm and piercing look. "What rumors?" he demanded._

_Her smile widened. "I love it when you get stern," she purred, reaching over and running a finger down Vodka's cheek. He pulled away._

_Vivalene settled back. "Some people say that Dr. Portman is . . . quite mad," she announced. "She isn't a well-respected scientist because of some of her theories on how the human mind should be studied." She poured more champagne for both of them. "Apparently, people have disappeared around her before, and they return in . . . well, pretty bad condition."_

_Vodka slumped back. "Dead?" he asked in a hushed tone._

_Vivalene's smile turned dark. "What is death, Vodka?" she remarked. "Is it always physical? Is death always when the spirit leaves the body behind, when breath and heartbeat cease? Or is there a living death?"_

_Vodka slammed his fork down on the plate. "What are you trying to say?" he cried, unable to keep his voice from rising._

_Vivalene laid a hand over his. "These people," she said calmly, never losing her dark expression of seeming amusement, "turn up with their minds either dead or badly damaged. They attack others mindlessly, they scream and yell as if they're no longer human, and sometimes they just rock silently in corners, back and forth, back and forth. . . . Never speaking, never crying, never acknowledging anyone. . . . Back and forth . . . back and forth. . . . Have you ever seen the eyes of someone who's been emotionally broken, Vodka?" She leaned closer, her green eyes alight with many indescribable feelings. "You have, haven't you? I'm sure your organization tortures people sometimes. You've probably seen the results. They're like living ghosts."_

_Vodka pulled away, just wanting her to stop touching him. His heart was racing. If this was true, then . . . was that what was happening to Gin? Was he being experimented on? Did this woman know of it? Was she pleased about it? Her voice, her eyes, her touch . . . all of it alarmed him. It was as if she did indeed know, and she reveled in it. "What do you know about it?" he said hotly. "Do you know that this is happening to Gin, and Chardonnay and Sake?"_

_"Oh, you're so emotional," Vivalene smirked. "Of course I don't know. These are only rumors. Maybe they aren't even true." She shrugged and leaned back, the shadows gone from her face. "Dr. Portman is somewhat unorthodox, I'll admit that, and I wouldn't be really surprised if these rumors are true. Anyway, I thought it would be something that you could look into. Maybe it would even help."_

_Vodka said nothing. He stared blankly at his plate, mulling over what she had told him. He had indeed seen people such as Vivalene was describing, and the thought of Gin ever being one of them was horrifying. He could not even imagine it. He knew he had been thinking that Gin was being tortured, but the thought of experimentation had never entered his mind. Surely that was not true. Gin was too strong-willed. He would not let that happen to him. Still, Vodka knew that his partner was only human. If Portman was as devious as Vivalene was describing, then maybe she would even have the abilities to break Gin. The blonde had already been missing for a week. That would be plenty of time to torment his mind. Vodka clenched a fist on the table. He knew he had to find Gin before much more time passed. It could be critical not only to his life, but his sanity._

_Thinking of something, he looked over at Vivalene again. "Why would Portman want agents from the Black Organization?" he demanded._

_Vivalene picked up her goblet again. "Well, think about it, darling," she answered. "Think of all the training you and Gin and all of the operatives have to undergo. Think of how particularly strong-willed all of you would have to be. Think of how much fun Portman would have trying to destroy that."_

_Vodka looked down at the table again. _But why,_ he asked silently,_ why didn't Portman take me as well?_ Had she decided that he was not worth it, that she would not have as much "fun" trying to break him? . . . Or was there a much more dark, sinister reason? Had she left him behind because without him around, she could torture Gin even more? Had she been watching them for a long time and had observed their close partnership? Oh, what kinds of things would she be doing to Gin?_

_He knew he was getting carried away. Perhaps Portman had not done anything. Perhaps she was not the guilty party. But Vodka could not help feeling that she very well could be. It at least made a certain sense, and it was something that he would thoroughly investigate.  
_

* * *

When Vodka found that Gin had fallen asleep in the chair later in the day, he tried to move about more quietly so as not to wake him. Once he thought he had stepped on a floorboard too loudly, but when he looked over at Gin, the other had not stirred. His blonde locks had fallen about his shoulders, and he was resting his head against the back of the soft furniture. Vodka decided that the other almost looked peaceful. 

He started when his cellphone rang. Quickly he groped for it, managing to answer after one ring. "Hello?"

"Hello, Vodka," Vermouth purred. "I heard that you found Gin last night. I was out on an assignment, or I would have called earlier. How is he?"

Vodka glanced over at the still-sleeping blonde before vanishing into his room to talk. "He could be better," he answered shortly, wondering how much Vermouth had already heard. The news was probably all over the base by now, including how Gin had attacked Aoshi and his medical team. Vodka also wondered if that incident was being told fairly, or if it had been twisted to make it sound as though Gin had lashed out without any reason.

"Yes, I've heard he isn't doing too well," Vermouth agreed then. "But he's not as bad off as Chardonnay is, is he?"

Vodka sighed, his shoulders slumping as he thought of Gin's behavior and then Chardonnay's since they had been located. "Neither of them are doing so well," he said finally. "Not Sake, either. They're just reacting in different ways." He hesitated, looking out through the partially open door and wondering if Gin would wake up and hear the conversation. "What else have you heard?"

"Not much, really," Vermouth told him, "just that they've been acting violent, and that Gin's been even more taciturn than usual." Vodka heard a click in the background, as if she had just lit a cigarette.

"Well, that's pretty much it," Vodka confirmed slowly. "They don't get violent unless they feel threatened, though." He wanted to make sure that Vermouth understood the full situation, and that she would not think that they were randomly psychotic. At least, Gin was not. Vodka hated to remember that Chardonnay had indeed seemed to attack absolutely anyone, whether or not they were doing something that could be interpreted as a threat.

"That's the impression I got," Vermouth smiled, "even though Aoshi's been trying to cast a different light on things." She paused. "How is Gin treating you?"

Vodka blinked, not especially feeling that it was Vermouth's business. He searched in vain for words for a long moment, and then started when he heard a loud crash. Quickly he opened the door the rest of the way and came to look out, and was stunned to see Gin throwing himself against the front door, as if desperate to get out. Forgetting completely about Vermouth's question, he tossed the phone onto the bed and ran into the living room.

"Bro, what are you doing?" he gasped.

"I have to get out of here!" Gin screamed in reply. He looked back at Vodka, his green eyes devoid of recognition. Having barely woke up, he was still partially in the nightmare he had just been having, and he seemed to believe that Vodka was one of Portman's minions. "You can't keep me here!" He threw himself at the door again, apparently trying to break it down.

Immediately Vodka reached out, firmly grabbing at Gin's arms near his shoulders and bringing them down while getting a tight grip on the other man. He could feel Gin's heart pounding wildly as he kept his arms around the blonde's chest. Gin struggled, kicking and clawing in his mad attempt to free himself, and it was all that Vodka could do to hang on without hurting his partner. "Bro, you have to calm down!" he pleaded. "You're going to hurt yourself! Don't you remember, you're safe now! You're not with Portman. It's just me. . . ."

Gin pried Vodka's arms away from him, screaming in an inhuman way that completely chilled Vodka's blood. Before the shorter man quite realized what was happening, Gin punched him harshly and sent him sprawling to the floor on his back. Vodka lay there in a daze for a moment, not having expected such an assault at all. Then Gin lunged, apparently going to try pinning the other down again, as he done the previous night.

Recovering in time, Vodka rolled out of the way and then caught Gin by surprise, gripping his shoulders again and pressing him to the floor. Gin screamed again, fighting against him madly, and Vodka struggled to keep hold of his companion.

"Gin, stop it!" he cried desperately over the sound of Gin's panicked, wordless yells. He winced as Gin kneed him in the ribs.

Suddenly he became aware of a loud rapping on the door, followed by an angry, familiar voice. "What's going on in there?" he demanded, and Vodka recognized the speaker as Brandy. "It sounds like someone's being murdered!"

Vodka groaned inwardly. "Don't worry about it," he called back, never taking his gaze away from Gin. The blonde had suddenly stopped struggling, and was simply staring up at Vodka, as if frozen in terror. Vodka was haunted by that look. He wanted to make it go away, he wanted to simply shut his eyes and ignore it, but he could not. And now that he had seen it, he could never forget it.

"Do you need help?" Brandy asked gruffly.

"No!" Vodka shot back. If anyone was going to come in, Vodka did not want it to be Brandy. He was certain that Brandy would not be able to do anything to help, and Vodka did not trust him in the first place. He could easily imagine Brandy treating Gin as cruel as Aoshi had done.

After a moment he heard the other walking away and he sighed in relief. He studied Gin again, wishing now that the blonde would scream, or fight, or do _something_, instead of continuing to stare up at him with those wide, panic-stricken eyes. Vodka swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say. "Bro . . . snap out of it," he whispered, his own voice strained and begging. Gin did nothing, barely even blinking. Vodka could feel how tense the other's muscles were and he suddenly realized that the other must be expecting some sort of punishment for his behavior. The dark-haired man's expression changed to knowing horror.

"Bro, I wouldn't hurt you," he said now, trying to get Gin to remember reality. "You're with me, you're safe." He paused. "If I let you up, you won't attack me, will you?" Gin did not move, but his gaze darted around the room, as if he expected to see other people coming in. Then he looked back to Vodka, as if to ask what he would do.

Vodka could not bear it. He released Gin and slowly moved back to sit on the floor. He wanted to plead for Gin to stop looking at him like that. He wanted to see Portman dead for making his partner end up like this. He would gladly pull the trigger himself. . . .

He started and then gaped in disbelief as Gin scrambled up and then dove into the corner. Sinking down on the floor, Gin drew his knees up to his chest. The blonde shuddered, looking around wildly as if still expecting an assault, and the thought occurred to Vodka that Gin looked scarily like a lost child. It was so wrong. All of this was wrong. . . . It could not be real. It was impossible for this to be reality!

The heavyset man slumped back, just gazing at Gin in complete and utter shock. Though he wanted to look away, he could not. Slowly he ran a hand over his face. He was a fool. For a short time, he had allowed himself to believe that Gin was recovering much more already and that perhaps things would not be as hard as he had originally thought. He saw now how ridiculous that was. There was a long way to go before Gin could fully recover.

He started out of his thoughts when he heard another knock on the door. Was it Brandy again? Vodka was about to yell in despair for him to go away when he heard a much different voice than he had expected.

"Vodka? Is everything alright in there? You threw down the phone so abruptly, and I could hear so much screaming in the background."

Vodka fell against the wall, still watching Gin in disbelief and feeling so highly disturbed. He opened his mouth, trying to find the strength to reply, to say that everything was fine, but he could not. "No," he choked out finally. "It's not alright, Vermouth. . . . It's not alright at all. . . ."


	7. On My Hands and Knees, I'm Crawling

**Notes: Thank you to everyone who has been leaving reviews! And to those who have been making suggestions, those are also very appreciated! You are all helping me to make this story better! **

**Chapter Six**

Vodka did not know how long he simply sat on the floor in a daze, watching Gin and half-listening to Vermouth asking if he was going to let her in. He honestly did not want to. She would only make him nervous, and Gin would not want her to see him in the condition he was in. Gin would feel revolted with himself once he came back to normal.

_If_ he came back. . . . But of course he would. He had been much more well-off several hours ago, and that had shown Vodka that his partner was still there. Buried under the effects of the torment, but still there. If Vodka could just focus on that, then he held more hope for Gin's eventual, complete recovery.

"Oh come on, Vodka, surely you're not going to leave me out here, are you?" Vermouth said now with a mock pout. "After telling me things aren't alright, you can't expect me to simply go away like nothing happened. I'm worried about you, and Gin dear too, of course."

Vodka flushed. Now that he had collected his thoughts a bit better, he was frustrated at himself for admitting to Vermouth the state of things. That was not something that he should have done. He honestly did not think that she would be able to correct the problem. He would just have to wait for Gin to come out of this on his own. Judging by the way he had been acting now, Vodka did not think that he would be able to help Gin by going over to him. That would probably only alarm the blonde.

"I really don't think it would be a good idea for you to come in, Vermouth," Vodka managed to say at last. He removed his sunglasses, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"Oh? Why not? You don't think Gin would try to attack me, do you?" He could hear Vermouth leaning on the door.

Vodka opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it again. Actually, he honestly could not say. That was not what he had been thinking of, but it was possible. There was no guarantee that Gin would not attempt to hurt her. Vermouth might not even use discretion and end up going over to him when she should not, and then Gin would retaliate out of a need for self-defense. "It just . . . wouldn't be a good idea," he sighed.

"Well, maybe you should come out here, then," Vermouth responded. "You sound like you need to talk to somebody."

"I'm okay," he said then. "Anyway, I don't think I should leave him. . . ." He doubted that it would be good at all for Gin to be by himself. The possibilities of what he might do were almost endless. And Vodka considered nearly everything. Gin might simply stay as he was, it was true, but on the other hand, he could try frantically to escape. And if he did, he could easily end up attacking someone if he felt threatened. Or what if he would even. . . . Vodka clenched a fist as his dream went through his mind again. Gin would not kill himself. Vodka had already determined that. Gin had survived through everything Portman had done to him. He would not give in now. Still, what if something went wrong and he accidentally hurt himself? Or what if he did attack someone and they hurt him out of defense, or even anger? He could see Brandy doing either of those things. No, Vodka did not dare leave.

"Well, for Heaven's sake, what did he do?" Vermouth exclaimed. "He seems pretty quiet right now." She frowned slightly. "You didn't have to hurt him, did you?" she demanded then, getting an image in her mind of Vodka being forced to render Gin unconscious. She knew that would not help matters, and that Vodka would be extremely distraught if he had been left with no other choice but to strike his partner.

"No!" Vodka cried in response. "No, I didn't. . . ."

He did not know how it happened, but he found himself telling Vermouth what actually had taken place, all while the door was still between them. He did not even stop to think about that for a moment. It felt so good to actually tell someone. And while he was not looking at Vermouth, he found it somewhat easier to talk to her. But even though she made him nervous, he did know that she was most likely the only person he would ever feel like talking to about the subject. She understood, and he knew she would not look down on Gin, even though Gin would not be pleased for her to know.

Vermouth was silent when Vodka finished. He started to wonder if she had ended up leaving. But at last she said, "Vodka, do you think I should go find a doctor?"

Vodka was surprised to hear that she sounded completely serious. Almost all of the time, when she spoke, there would be a certain teasing lilt to her voice. "I don't know," he said helplessly. "I don't think Gin would let anyone get close to him right now. If anyone tries, I think they'd probably make things a lot worse. . . ." He looked back at the blonde, who was now leaning forward across his knees, his bangs completely obscuring his eyes. But Vodka did not need to see Gin's eyes to know that the other was terrified. He could not stand it. For him, this was far more disturbing for him to see than any of the other phases Gin had gone through. And it made him hate Portman all the more, as well as being aghast and further bewildered over the methods she must have used.

"Maybe you could go find out what a doctor might say to do," Vodka reflected then, and swallowed hard. "But I wouldn't want Aoshi to find out. . . . He'd try to take Gin with him."

"He would, wouldn't he," Vermouth mused softly.

"He's already got Chardonnay and Sake," Vodka mumbled, "and I know he can't be treating them right, after how he acted with Gin. . . ."

Gin looked up slowly, his hair parting and revealing part of a green eye. Vodka blinked in surprise when he noticed that first confusion and then recognition appeared in that eye. Slowly the blonde took in his surroundings, as if unable to believe where he was and what he was doing, and then he gave Vodka an incredulous look.

"How did I get here?" he growled.

Vodka simply stared at him for a moment, not certain whether to be relieved or disturbed. Gin was back to himself again, but the fact that he did not remember his actions seemed like a concern. Vodka wondered if this was something that would happen frequently over the next while, and he hoped not. "Bro . . . you put yourself there," he said then, his voice quiet. He had forgotten that he had not replaced his sunglasses, and he was revealing to Gin all of his current emotions through his eyes.

Gin's expression darkened as he studied Vodka. Slowly he got up, looking down at the other as if trying to recollect something. "Did I hurt you?" he asked then.

Vodka blinked. "When?" he asked. Subconsciously he raised a hand to his cheek, where Gin had punched him a moment before.

"Just now." Gin followed Vodka's actions with his cold gaze. "I did, didn't I?"

Vodka shook his head. "I'm okay, bro," he replied.

They both started at the sound of Vermouth's voice. "Well, it sounds like everything's back to normal in there," she remarked. "I'm glad to hear it. I have to be going now, but you'll call me soon, won't you, Vodka?" Vodka felt himself turning crimson. "And Gin, I hope I'll be seeing you around before long. It's really been lonely without you to tease." Smirking, she turned and walked back up the hall, her shoes clicking on the tiled floor.

Gin growled, listening to the sound until it faded away. Then he subconsciously shuddered, as if it reminded him of something else---Portman, perhaps. "Get up off the floor," he muttered, looking back to Vodka.

Slowly the other got up, and he had to wonder how long Gin would stay like this. Vodka wanted to believe that Gin would not have another spell of going out of his mind, that instead he would only get better from here, but he had the feeling that it was likely that Gin would continue to have moments where he would forget reality and lose himself in the living nightmare he had endured. Vodka watched the blonde apprehensively as he sank into a chair, running his fingers through his long bangs.

After a moment Gin looked up again. "Why did I go into the corner?" he demanded, and Vodka could only helplessly shake his head.

"I don't know, bro," he admitted quietly. "I really don't know. . . ." He swallowed hard. "I think you must've thought that someone was going to hurt you, and that maybe in the corner you'd be safe. . . ."

Gin grunted and fell silent. He was losing his mind. No matter what Vodka said, Gin was certain that this was true. If he was not out of his mind, why would he have fled into the corner, and why would he not remember it now? For him, there was not another explanation. After what he had gone through, how could he possibly hope to be sane again?

* * *

_At some point the torture stopped. Gin did not know when it was. He had eventually fallen unconscious, unable to stand it any longer. When he finally started to open his eyes again, it was because he had heard a voice calling to him. He coughed weakly, tasting blood, and then winced as pain rippled through his back. He remembered the whipping now, and that they had kept hurting him after setting aside that instrument. He struggled to get up and then weakly moaned. He could not move right now. It was too much for him._

_"Bro . . . ?"_

_He heard the voice again, and he tensed, recognizing it as Vodka's. "Don't hurt me again," Gin hissed brokenly, and recalled how he had longed for his partner to come and rescue him when he was being beaten. He had known then that it was impossible. And it was just as impossible now. Vodka could not be there. It had to be an illusion, a hallucination, his mind playing tricks on him. And Gin hated it._

_Vodka knelt down in front of him, and through Gin's bangs the green-eyed man could see the concern in the other's expression. So it would be a kind Vodka today. But they were just as nerve-racking as the intentionally cruel ones, or perhaps even moreso. They would only talk to him, and never actually help him._

_"What have they done to you, bro?" he said softly, but did not reach for Gin or to try to quell his bleeding wounds. He simply stayed where he was, watching Gin expectantly, yet worriedly._

_Gin gave a weak growl. "What does it look like?" he snapped, his temper flaring up at having to go through this as soon as he had regained consciousness. "Get me out of here, Vodka. . . . If you're not going to do anything, then just leave me alone. Don't always just stand there and stare at me with sympathy! I don't need your pity. I need you to help me!" Vodka was not real. Gin could yell at and curse him all he wanted, letting loose with his frustrations and his despair over his situation._

_To his surprise, Vodka nodded. "Of course, bro," he agreed. "I'll help you. I got in through a back way. We can go out through there and they'll never see us."_

_Gin looked up at the other in awe and confusion. He had been expecting so many responses, for Vodka to say in various ways that he wanted to help, but that he could not, but instead Vodka was actually going to offer assistance? Was it at all possible that this was not an illusion at all? Could it be real? "Is it really you this time?" he mumbled, too weary to properly express his surprise, and the hope that he was starting to feel. "I thought you were dead. . . ." The Vodkas had never offered to help him escape before. The passive ones would say that they could not do anything, and the aggressive ones would beat him._

_"Portman was lying to you, bro," Vodka answered, starting to get up. "I"ve been looking for you all this time. . . . Everyone's been saying that you're dead, but I wouldn't ever believe it." He searched over the room, finally locating the first aid kit he was looking for, and started to bring it over to where the blonde was still laying. "Here, I'll fix these wounds for you, and then we'll go," he said. "Can you stand at all?"_

_"I don't know," Gin had to admit through clenched teeth. He hated this show of weakness. He hated that he would probably have to be carried out of here. But at least . . . at least he would be able to get away. . . . And Vodka actually was alive. . . . Gin had continued to believe it somewhere in his mind, even after Portman had denied it, but now he knew it was true. Vodka was alive, and he had not forgotten his partner._

_Abruptly a gunshot rang out and Gin heard a clatter as the container slipped from Vodka's hands to crash onto the floor. Blood splattered across it and the tiles, and as Gin tried to raise himself up to see what had happened, Vodka's limp body fell in front of him. More of the crimson substance was flowing from a wound on his back, and as Gin shakily reached out and grabbed Vodka's shoulder, yelling for him to respond, it quickly dawned on the green-eyed man that Vodka was dead. The bullet had travelled into Vodka's chest and struck his heart, killing him instantly._

_Still, Gin refused to accept it. He forced his protesting body into a kneeling position and leaned forward, unable to straighten up from the pain in his back. "Vodka!" he snapped, shaking the other again. "Wake up. . . . Vodka. . . ." But he could not get a response, and his wounds finally dragged him back to the floor, where he ended up resting his head against his partner's shoulder. He could feel that the heavyset man was completely still. Vodka was not breathing, and his heart had been permanently stopped by the lead that had entered it._

_Gin did not know what to think. The bullet had come from out of nowhere . . . neither of them had heard it. Gin had always partially considered the thought that Vodka was already dead, even though he wanted to believe otherwise. And he had believed at first that this Vodka was an illusion. But . . . he had not behaved as the previous, fake ones had, and Gin had allowed himself to entertain the thought that Vodka was real this time. His death seemed real. . . . The body that Gin was slumped against felt real. But in this world of make-believe, how could Gin be sure of anything? Maybe not even he himself was real any longer._

_He cursed weakly. Escape was too good to be true. He actually found himself envying Vodka, or whoever it was who had been fatally shot. He had found a way out of this torment, but Gin would have to remain. His eyes started to close as he felt himself falling back into unconsciousness._

_Somewhere nearby he heard high heels clicking on the marble tiles, followed by Portman's cruel laugh. "Poor Gin," she remarked. "You're just going to have to stay with us longer. I'm sorry about your partner, but I couldn't let him take you away right now." The footsteps came closer, and Gin heard them stop nearby. "I'll treat your wounds, and I'll have my men take the body away. You just sleep, Gin. That's all you have to worry about right now. Just sleep. . . ."_

_Gin felt her hands on his back and he jerked weakly, wanting to get away from her. "Don't touch me," he hissed. "Don't you dare touch me!" He cursed her then, and received a rough kick in the ribs as a response._

_"Don't you know talking will make it worse, Gin? Don't use all of your energy. Go to sleep." He felt a sting begin to spread over his back as she started to dab at the wounds with a disinfectant pad, and he hissed in pain, again trying to pull away. He did not want this creature to tend to him! He wanted her to suffer as he was suffering, but he wondered if she even would be capable of it. The way she worked, operating in the shadows while tormenting her victims and draining them of their energy and their very sanity, reminded him of some sort of vampire or witch. Maybe that was what she was, he thought sarcastically, and she was not actually alive at all._

_But he was not able to ponder over it any longer. The pain and the bloodloss, combined with the strain of trying to get up and the shock of seeing Vodka being shot, sent him back into senselessness.  
_

* * *

_Vodka was relieved when he was able to get away from Vivalene's abode. After the dinner, she had wanted him to stay longer and "get acquainted better", but he had to refuse, saying that he needed to get back to the search for Gin. Vivalene had pouted, and Vodka had blushed, but he had remained firm. After thanking Vivalene for the food, and most of all for the information, Vodka had departed._

_Now he was back at his hotel room, opening his laptop. He did not know if he would even find anything out about this Portman woman. Maybe Vivalene had been telling him lies. Maybe she wanted to lead him on a wild goose chase. But he would have to take that chance. He would do whatever it took to get Gin back._

_For the next two hours, he pored over the articles, clippings, and other information about Alice Portman that was available, and the more he read, the more disheartened and panicked he became. It was as Vivalene had said, she was a poorly respected scientist due to her views and methods. Apparently she believed that more firm methods were needed to learn information from criminals and other enemies, and to torture them as punishment. According to one article, after a controversial presentation of her ideas at the university where she had been employed, she had been immediately fired and blacklisted. She had vanished from the public eye afterwards, though several times the police had found mysterious and abandoned laboratories with severely emotionally damaged people inside, and they had been led to believe that it was Portman's work._

_Vodka slumped back in the chair, removing his sunglasses and running a hand over his face. It was sounding more and more as though Portman could easily have Gin. She seemed to be erring drastically to the right, and would probably enjoy experimenting on someone like Gin for more reasons than one._

_Reaching for the phone, he quickly dialed the number that Vivalene had left with him and waited nervously for someone to answer. He had started to think that she was either teasing and tormenting him by not doing so, or that she was meeting with Portman at that moment, when there was at last a click on the other end._

_"Hello?" Vivalene purred in her sultry tones._

_Vodka shifted uncomfortably. "Ms. Arnold . . . I need to know everything you know about this Portman woman," he greeted then. "Do you have any address for her, or a telephone number?"_

_Vivalene chuckled. "I knew you would be calling again, Vodka," she remarked. "I do have a phone number for her, but when I tried to call it the last time, it had been disconnected. She can't stay in any one place very long, or the police will catch up to her. And the only address I have for her is cleared out as well." But she gave Vodka the information anyway, and he could not help but notice the pleased tone to her voice._

_Vodka felt that he had to comment. "Why are you even trying to help me, Ms. Arnold?" he asked slowly. "You know she'll be in trouble with us when we find her. . . . And you acted like she was someone whose employment you valued."_

_"I have valued it, while it lasted," she answered flippantly, "but it seems obvious that she's moved on, without even giving me notice, and I won't stand for that, you know. I'm helping you so that you can help me, frankly. I want you to find her for me, because she's in trouble with me as well as with you." He had the feeling she was smirking. "Even though she's a wonderful scientist, and should be more respected, that doesn't change that she's betrayed me. I don't stand for that sort of thing, you know."_

_Vodka pondered on that for a moment. So he was being used. That was not a surprise. But he found that he did not care that much. All he wanted was to find Portman, and hence, find Gin. Any assistance that Vivalene could give him was welcome, no matter the reason why she was doing it. Gin's safety was the most important thing to him._

_"Well, then I can count on you to tell me anything else you find out?" he demanded._

_"Of course, of course, darling." Vivalene leaned back into her soft pillows. "I enjoy having other people do my errands for me, whenever possible. You will, in turn, tell me if you learn anything?"_

_Vodka flushed. "After I'd tell my superiors," he said then. His loyalty was to the Organization, not to Vivalene. And she knew that, of course. _

_As he thought more about it, this situation did make him quite uncomfortable. But it was the price he would have to pay. She was the only one he knew who had some connection with this woman. She might be useful. But he knew he would have to stay on guard, just in case she would turn against him. He had not worked for many years with Gin without learning things from him. And one such thing was that people could not be trusted, no matter who they were._

_He glowered across the room as this thought entered his mind, as it was inevitably followed again by the words of those who insisted that Gin was alive and well, and had simply betrayed his longtime partner. It was outrageous for them to even suggest such a thing. Were they so blind as to not know that Gin was fiercely loyal to his comrades? He was that way with Vodka. If nothing else, Gin had always been loyal to him._

_Though Vodka still had the feeling sometimes that Gin possibly might actually care about him. Gin certainly treated him differently than he treated most people, at any rate. The two of them had spent so much time together, both on and off duty, and Gin had often allowed Vodka to get away with saying a lot of things to him that he would never have put up with from other subordinates. Vodka had come to feel that he could speak casually to his partner and that Gin would not be angry with him. Vodka felt more at home with Gin than he ever had with anyone else in his life._

_And ironically, they had both been convinced at first that their partnership would never last. . . ._

_"Oh, Vodka, darling, are you still there?"_

_Vodka started back to the present, nearly dropping the telephone. Then he flushed in realization. He had completely forgotten that Vivalene had not hung up yet! "I'm still here," he said slowly._

_"Good." Vivalene relaxed further into her bed, her silky negligee billowing out around her. "Well, I'd say there's probably not a lot you can find out on Okinawa, darling. I've looked all around. She's probably in Tokyo, as she said. Tokyo's a large place, as you know, of course. It would be easy for her to hide there. And I wish you all the luck you can possibly have, for both of our sakes." With that she hung up._

_Vodka slowly replaced the receiver back in its cradle, leaning back in the chair. So it was back to Tokyo then. . . . But if Portman moved around so much, what was the guarantee that he would find her there? Maybe she had already gone somewhere else, taking Gin with her._

_He looked back to the article that was still being presented on his laptop. One thing that seemed to hold true no matter where she went was that she left the victims for a particular place when she moved on. And so he supposed he had to hope that Gin would still be in Tokyo._

_He clicked the Back button on the browser to look over what was left that he had not read. Among them was a piece on some of her suspected victims, how they had been when they had been discovered, and how they were recovering. He swallowed hard, hesitating for a long moment, and then clicked out of the site. He already had nightmarish images of Gin's suffering going through his mind. He did not want to feed his fears. And reading what could be happening to Gin would not help Vodka find him any faster.  
_

* * *

_The next return to consciousness came even more slowly. It might have been hours, or even days, since Gin had been awake. He did not know, and he had long ago stopped caring. At least in senselessness he did not have to suffer. It was his only release. Not even normal sleep, when he had it, was helpful to him. But he could not even recall the last time he had voluntarily fallen asleep. It seemed that it was always unconsciousness that he was slipping into these days. They had been hurting him endlessly every time he was awake, and neither his body or his spirit could stand much more. . . ._

_Weakly he moved his hand across the surface he was laying on, which was hard and cold. At first he thought that he was still on the floor, but then his fingers came to the edge. They had laid him on a metal slab. He growled weakly in anger, trying to gather the strength to open his eyes._

_Before he could, a harsh weapon came down on his hand and his eyes flew open as the pain swept over him. He jerked his hand back protectively, searching for the source of the attack._

_"You're not allowed to move," a sadistic, unfamiliar voice laughed from somewhere above him. "You're just supposed to lay still."_

_Gin growled in anger and confusion, immediately trying to look up at his attacker. In response, a thick fist slammed onto his head, forcing him back down. He gripped the edges of the slab, shaking in pain and fury. They could not do this to him! This was an outrage. He would not have it._

_"Just do as you're told, and maybe the doctor will be nice and let you sleep in your bed again. Maybe she'll even let you have that pretty dark-haired girl, the one that she sent to you before." More laughing, followed by repeated strikes to his back and legs._

_Gin gasped as he was hit again and again. He had not moved this time! What was this creature doing to him? Every time he was struck, he cringed out of reflex and from the pain. And then he would be hit once more._

_"You can't move at all," the thug told him. "The only movement you're allowed to make is breathing! Can't let Portman's prize subject die, after all!" He cracked the weapon over Gin's shoulders, and the blonde hissed, clutching even more tightly at the slab underneath him._

_Gin did not know how long this went on. Sometimes he was not even aware that he was moving, and he would still be hit. He knew that this person was trying to break him, to make him so weary that he could not resist the pain at all---the way he ended up after being beaten for a long period of time. And after everything that had happened, he felt the fight going out of him much more quickly than it had in the past. He was weakening. Despite his strong will and his mental strength, not even he was able to keep fighting Portman._

_This agony happened to him over and over when he would regain consciousness---being punished in various ways for even the slightest movement, and sometimes for making any sounds. Talking was too much for him then, but there were still times when he would moan in pain without half realizing, and then he would be shocked roughly with electricity, or struck with the whip. It did not always happen, either, and sometimes he would have periods of peace before the torment would start anew. This made him paranoid, and he found himself constantly on edge, wondering what they would do to him next, and when. And even as the worst of his physical wounds healed, the emotional and mental lacerations tore all the more.  
_

* * *

Gin was quiet for the rest of the day. It worried Vodka greatly, especially in light of what had happened earlier, and he wondered for the umpteenth time what had happened and how he would be able to mend his partner's broken spirit. He did not have the confidence in himself that he could do anything for the blonde. And he dreaded to know the truth behind Gin's behavior, as well as wanting to know. Vodka could not comprehend the level of torture that would have been administered to ever be able to reduce Gin to a frightened child. 

He sighed, watching as the blonde lit his fourth cigarette and gazed off into the distance. But Vodka could not bear the look of pain in the other's eyes, and he quickly averted his gaze.

"Bro . . ." he said quietly, and then was not sure how to proceed. But he had gotten Gin's attention, as the tired, tormented eyes focused on him. Vodka shifted slightly. "Bro, I want to help you. . . ."

Gin seemed to consider this for a long time. At last he removed the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his fingers. "How?" he asked, in a voice so quiet and despondent that Vodka barely heard it. But it chilled him.

The heavyset man swallowed hard. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted sadly. "I . . . I know what happened to you must have been horrible, and that I'll never really be able to understand it. . . ."

Gin growled. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered. He wanted to put it all behind him now. If this was real, then he no longer had a need to be haunted by the past. He could move on with his life, get everything back into place again, and forget what had happened with Portman. And yet, he knew that he would not, that he _could_ not. She would continue to torture him as long as she could, despite not even physically being there any longer. The damage was done. Talking about it would not make it go away. Gin felt that it would only tear open the wounds all the more. Then he would relive everything even more than he already was.

His dreams were filled with Portman and her cruel tactics. Every waking moment was spent thinking about what had happened, no matter how hard he tried to not think about it. He felt lost, distant, detached from the world he was in now. Vodka was with him again, at last, but for Gin, Vodka was still far from him. Or perhaps he was far from Vodka. He wondered if he would ever feel differently again. At this point, it seemed impossible.

Vodka sighed, his shoulders slumping. He could sense as much, though Gin did not say anything further. But it was obvious that the green-eyed man still did not feel as though he was actually there. He seemed to have some understanding that he was safe and that he would not be harmed, and yet it was almost as if Gin felt like he was living in a fog or mist, separated from everyone else. He did not think that anyone could understand his pain, and he himself did not understand it. He wanted to lock it away, but he could not. And Vodka felt so helpless.

Both of them were startled by an abrupt knock on the door, followed by an unkind voice. "Open up in there!" Vodka recognized it all too well as Brandy's, and Gin's eyes narrowed darkly.

Quickly Vodka got up and went to the door, only opening it partway. "What do you want, Brandy?" he asked, feeling a definite sense of dread as he looked at the older, cold agent. Two visits in one day from Brandy could never be good news. One visit was worrisome enough.

"I've brought Aoshi with me," Brandy responded, stepping out of the way so that the physician would be visible. "I told him what I heard earlier. He wants to take Gin."

Immediately Gin got out of the chair, tense and ready to fight if he had to. Vodka narrowed his own eyes, disgusted and appalled that Brandy had decided to take this matter into his own hands. "Gin's staying here with me," he said coldly.

Aoshi glowered. "It's not safe for you or for any of the other agents here," he retorted. "Brandy said that it sounded like Gin was trying to kill you earlier. If he's allowed to run free, he could easily do that, and then kill a good number of the others."

Gin gave him a smouldering look as he came over to stand near Vodka. He was certain that Aoshi would actually be pleased if that happened, but that he would not let it solely because he wanted to give the illusion of doing his job. But if Gin was taken by him, he doubted that he would ever get free. And he clenched a fist tightly. He would fight Aoshi again, if he had to. He would kill the wayward doctor, as he should have done the previous night. He would never allow anyone to hurt him again as Portman had done.

Vodka took a deep breath. "Brandy never saw what was happening," he said then. "He only assumed."

"I didn't need to see!" Brandy interrupted. "It's obvious that he was out of control. You're not a medical doctor. You don't have any qualifications to look after that . . . that wild man!" he finished. "If he can even be called a man anymore. . . ."

Gin looked at him with hatred. "Get out of here," he hissed. "Both of you."

Vodka looked back at his partner in concern, afraid of what Gin might do if Brandy and Aoshi pushed their self-appointed mission any further. Gin would never stand for it. And Vodka would not, either. They would never take his partner, not as long as he was able to do something about it.

"I have better qualifications than you," Vodka answered then, looking from Brandy to Aoshi. "I actually care what happens to Gin." He gripped the edge of the door, his knuckles turning white. "Neither of you have any right to be here." He was surprised at his own firmness, as he had been the previous night when he had punched Aoshi, but he knew he could not stand idly by and allow any of this to happen.

Brandy pulled out his gun, his eyes cold and hard. "We'll take him by force, if you won't help us," he said darkly.

Vodka swallowed hard when he saw the weapon. He had not been expecting that. But he remained firm, never loosening his grip on the door. Brandy would not scare him. "You wouldn't dare shoot me," he said then.

Brandy brought the gun up to Vodka's throat. "Wouldn't I?" he replied, a sick smile twisting his features. "I'd be happy to, really. I never have liked you. If you'd drowned in the pool all those years ago, no one would have known the truth except me and the others, and none of us would have ever told. It would have just been thought of as an accident, since you couldn't swim. But you had to be rescued by the brat who ended up being your partner."

Suddenly the unmistakable sound of a bullet echoed throughout the room. Everyone started in shock, and Brandy quickly and shakily lowered the gun to his side. Then Vodka saw that the reason for that was because blood was emerging from Brandy's shoulder. He whirled around, and his mouth dropped open when he saw that Gin was holding Vodka's gun, which he had grabbed off the table. The blonde's eyes were not visible, but Vodka could feel the other's rage and hatred. He clutched tightly at the gun, and when he spoke, the tone of his voice chilled his partner.

"Your problem is with me. Leave him out of it. I'll kill you if you try that again." Several bangs fell away, revealing his flashing eyes. "And I'll kill you if you try to take me with you." There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he meant it.

Brandy gaped at him, at a loss for words at the moment. But Aoshi was not.

"You see?" the doctor cried. "He's not in his right mind! It's not safe to be around him." He looked to Vodka. "I don't care what your personal feelings are, or his. He needs medical treatment to control him!"

Vodka finally found his voice. "Medical treatment?" he sputtered. "You . . . you don't even know how to give him medical treatment!" He reached for the door again, hoping to shut it and lock them out. "Your idea of 'medical treatment' is to shut him up in a room where he'll be all alone and won't ever get any care or proper attention from anyone! How do you think that will help him? That will make him worse!"

"Oh, and allowing him to kill you will help?" Aoshi snapped back.

"He won't kill me!" Vodka practically yelled.

Aoshi regarded him with disgust. "I'm tired of these games," he declared, shoving Vodka aside enough that he could slip into the room.

Immediately Vodka retaliated, grabbing the physician and tackling him to the floor. Aoshi was not a good match for him, and though he struggled, Vodka soon had him pinned down. When Aoshi tried to get up, Vodka struck him across the face. He would not stand for any of this! They did not have any right to barge in here and attempt to enact their own will. Vodka decided then and there that he would be making a formal complaint against them both. If it was just himself, he would not bother. But because of what they were trying to do to Gin, he would.

Behind him he could hear another gunshot going off, and he looked over in alarm. Brandy had fired his own gun, clipping Gin on the cheek. The blonde stood in surprise for a moment, not having expected the attack, and then he raised his weapon again, ready to defend himself against Brandy's assault.

Vodka panicked. "Stop!" he yelled. This gun battle was making everything worse, for several reasons. Not only was it making Gin become all the more anxious and on edge, but it would be ammunition that Brandy would twist and use to his advantage. Quickly Vodka pulled out the gun that he had discovered Aoshi had been carrying inside his white coat, pointing it first at Aoshi and then at Brandy. "Stop!" he ordered again, as he stood up. "Just leave! What happens to Gin isn't your business. He's my partner."

Brandy cursed him spitefully. "Go ahead and shoot," he retorted. "That will only make it worse for you."

Slowly Aoshi got up from where he was still sprawled on the floor. "Let's just go, for now," he said in a dark tone, looking to his accomplice as he took his gun back from Vodka. "We don't have to give up the war, only this battle." Without waiting for Brandy's response, the doctor pushed past him to the door, then turned and grabbed Brandy's wrist. "I'll treat your wound." This statement was said with a certain warning tone that indicated he would not put up with any resistance.

Brandy glowered, but finally turned to follow him. "This isn't over," he declared coldly, looking from Vodka to Gin in emphasis. Vodka was certain that was true, and he did not relish the prospect of their next meeting.

Quickly he shut the door after them, relieved as he locked it and turned the bolt. Then he turned to look back at Gin, still stunned over what had just happened and how the blonde had reacted.

If Gin was aware that he was being watched, he did not care. He set the gun back on the table before crossing the room and sinking into a chair, almost as if nothing had happened at all. Then he lit another cigarette, slumping back into the softness of the furniture. Vodka could feel that the other's fury was still there. Not that he blamed Gin in the least. He was angry too.

Slowly Vodka sat down as well, wondering what to say, if anything. He was grateful for what Gin had done on his behalf, but confused as well. Normally he did not think Gin would actually have shot Brandy, though he most likely would have threatened to. But for Gin to have actually done it showed how on edge he was right now. He was not willing to take any chances, nor to give Brandy any benefit of the doubt.

"Bro?"

"What."

Vodka swallowed, shifting again. "Why did you do that?" he asked quietly.

Gin did not need to inquire as to what Vodka meant. "Because," he growled, images of Vodka being shot dead flashing through his mind, "this time I actually could."


	8. I Reach for You, I Scream for You

**Notes: Many thanks to Aubrie for her help and advice in figuring out this chapter! Also, this chapter carries a warning for being much darker than the previous ones and for getting into a more thematic subject, though I've tried to handle it in a tasteful manner.  
**

* * *

** Chapter Seven**

Vodka cradled his partner's upper body in his arms, staring down in horror at all the blood and the fatal wounds. The blonde hair was tangled and streaked with crimson, the long locks falling over Vodka's left arm. The once-strong form was physically and emotionally broken, the chest stilled as blood streamed from the pierced heart. The only manner of apparel that adorned the corpse was a tattered and bloodied sheet that Vodka had wrapped it in, as a means of giving his comrade some form of dignity. The head and neck had limply fallen back, and as Vodka tried to adjust his grip so that's the other's head would rest on his shoulder, he realized that, through the bangs, the green eyes were still open. They were blank and empty, the eyes of a dead man. And Vodka swallowed hard, reaching with his other hand to gently close the eyes. He could not bear to look.

"Don't look at me like that."

He snapped back to the present, swallowing hard as he took in the sight of Gin sitting on the bathroom floor, gripping his wrist as crimson streaked through his fingers. He was not dead yet, but would he have been, if Vodka had arrived a few moments later? Would he still die? And had he inflicted that wound himself? Vodka still did not know. He wished that he had not left earlier. But he had never dreamed that he would come back to this.

Hours before, Gin had finally fallen asleep back at the suite, and for some reason Vodka had gotten the undeniable urge to find out exactly what was happening to Chardonnay and Sake in Aoshi's ward, especially after Aoshi's unscheduled visit. He had already known that they could not be being treated well, but what he had seen there was enough to both horrify and outrage him. He was not certain what he had expected to see, but he did know that it had not been what he had found---and that he never wanted to see it again.

_"Agent Vodka?"_

_He started and half-turned, regarding with confusion the nurse in front of him. She looked back, her brown eyes revealing her own bewildered feelings._

_"Are you alright?" she asked, clutching her clipboard to her chest as she regarded him worriedly. Coming down the corridor, she had found him standing there, gazing off into space as if both horrified and deep in thought. And when she saw the room he was standing in front of, she could certainly understand why. She herself did not like going there more than necessary, and she had found herself trying to find alternate routes to where she needed to go. She hated that it disturbed her so much, but when it could also affect one of the Organization's assassins, then she did not feel as badly about it._

_He swallowed hard, nodding, and looked back to the window that he had been gazing through. He had gotten lost in thought after watching the occupants of the room, and he wished that he had not come here. He did not even know what had brought him there in the first place. He doubted the women realized he was there._

_Chardonnay had done very little of anything, and instead was rocking back and forth in the corner of the room. It reminded Vodka too much of what Vivalene had said that night during dinner, about what happened to some people who were emotionally broken. Chardonnay's partner Sake had been that same way when Vodka had found her at Portman's base, rocking back and forth and not seeming to comprehend anything happening in reality. He quickly averted his eyes from her._

_Sake was restless now, and was pacing around the room. Every now and then, she screamed in an inhuman way. Vodka was chilled, especially when she turned and saw him watching her through the window in the door. Her eyes widened as many emotions flickered through them, and for the briefest moment Vodka wondered if she recognized him. But then she lunged without warning at the door, her hands curled in a clawlike manner, and Vodka instinctively jumped back, his heart racing and his mind reeling._

_Gin could have ended up as they were. He had been showing signs of damage similar to theirs, but he had not been held captive for as long. If he had been missing for as long as Chardonnay and Sake, then who knew how he might be at this point. He was a strong person, but it had been proven that not even he could withstand all of the immense torture he had been put through._

I'm not qualified to take care of him,_ he thought to himself as he turned to leave this horrible scene. _And I know Aoshi never could be, either. But he should know what's to be done, even if he won't do it. I don't have the training. I don't have any idea what to do. If he can't help them, when he's a doctor, how can I expect to be able to do anything for Gin?_ He knew that it was most assuredly true that he did care what happened to Gin, as he had told Aoshi and Brandy, but he wondered if that honestly was a good enough qualification. If there was a kind medical doctor, then Gin should probably instead be treated by such a person. Though it was not likely that Gin would even allow it himself, since Vodka was the only person whom Gin would let get close to him. It was a lot to live up to._

_He turned back slightly when he saw out of the corner of his eye a man coming to the door and unlocking it. To his shock, the person was carrying a wooden rod, and when Sake tried to lunge at the newcomer as the door was opened, he struck her harshly on the forehead, sending her falling back. Then he advanced into the room, locking the door from the inside with a key and proceeding to hit Sake every time she tried to rise. Chardonnay only continued her rocking, as if oblivious to everything going on around her._

_Vodka was aghast, wanting to turn away and yet not being able to. This was not like watching an enemy being interrogated---though he did not even remember the interrogations proceeding in this manner. But this was a fellow agent, someone who deserved to be treated with respect, especially after her horrifying experience. "What are you doing to her?" he finally cried indignantly. "You can't help her that way!"_

_The man never looked back. "She has to be taught that this behavior isn't allowed!" he retorted. "She has to be broken in. She's not an animal, she's a woman, and a member of the Black Organization!" Sake grabbed desperately for the rod and he kicked her in the face._

_"You're treating her like an animal!" Vodka yelled through the glass as Sake fell back, her nose gushing blood. "She suffered that kind of treatment every day for months because of Portman, and now that she's back, you're acting the same way with her!" He banged on the glass, filled with a sense of fury that he did not entirely understand. "How do you expect her to get better?" Perhaps he was seeing Gin in Sake's place, imagining him being hit repeatedly until he could not even defend himself. And perhaps, too, he remembered Chardonnay being happy and cheerful, and Sake being serious and sarcastic. Those memories only made it all the more disturbing to see them now._

_"It isn't your business!" Aoshi's aide retorted. "Anyway, don't you have somewhere else to be, such as with your partner?"  
_

_  
Vodka clenched a fist, knowing that there was nothing he could do for Chardonnay or Sake right then. The best he could hope for would be that the formal complaint he had issued would be reviewed and actually investigated, rather than just being rejected. Aoshi needed to have his job terminated. Surely the base's director would not have turned a blind eye to the physician's conduct. And for associating with Aoshi the way that he had, Brandy should be dealt with as well. Not to mention that Vodka would never believe that Brandy had not been the one who had tried to kill them at the villa in the mountains._

_Though, Vodka suddenly realized, he could appeal to the elderly doctor. He could not forget how that man had stepped in to help protect Gin the previous night. Surely he could do something about the cruelty of Aoshi's men. It was worth trying, anyway. Vodka did not feel right about leaving things as they currently were. He knew that he never could if it was Gin being beaten in that room, and Sake was a fellow agent. He wanted to do what he could to be able to help her, even if he could not actually do much._

_He turned away, also knowing that he did, indeed, need to return to Gin. He would hurry and find the doctor, and then go back to the suite. The blonde could be awake now, and panicked to find himself all alone. He had tried to hide it, but he was not always successful, and Vodka had seen his ally's fear more than once over the past twenty-four or so hours. Gin hated himself for it, in his moments when he seemed more like the man Vodka had known for years, but after what he had gone through it was not something he could help. He was only human._

_When Vodka arrived back at the suite and got out his keys to open the door, he could not deny that he had an eerie, foreboding feeling. He swallowed, pushing it back as he unlocked the door and stepped into the living room---but if anything, the silence in the room only increased his worry. Gin was probably still sleeping, Vodka told himself, and that was why everything was so quiet._

_He noticed that the blonde's door was ajar again. Gin had not explained, but Vodka had gathered that the other had not been willing to stay alone in his room with the door shut. He seemed to be afraid that if the door was closed, he would not be able to get back out of the room. Slowly Vodka approached the door, opening it further to look into the darkened room. His eyes widened when he saw that the bed was empty, the covers having been thrown back._

_Deeply concerned now, and berating himself for having left Gin in the first place, Vodka pushed the door open the rest of the way and hurried into the room. "Bro?" he called, switching on the light as he checked desperately through the room and even in Gin's bathroom, in case he had fallen and was hurt. But he was not there. Panicked, Vodka came back into the living room._

_Where could Gin have gone? And why? Had he panicked, leaving the suite entirely? Where would he go? Would he be wandering around the base? Surely he would not have taken his car. . . ._

_Vodka blinked suddenly, frowning in confusion. Had he left the door to his own room open? He did not remember having done so before going to the infirmary. And yet it was partially open now. But Gin would not go in there, would he? Well, he decided, it was worth a try. It was hard to know what Gin might do, especially if he had woken up distraught. Maybe he still did not fully believe that this was real._

_Quickly Vodka went to his door, pushing it open and looking into the bedroom. "Gin, are you in here?" he exclaimed, stepping inside and looking around the side of the bed. He could not see anything, and he felt even more puzzled. Biting his lip, he placed his hand on the bed's headboard, and then suddenly blinked when he felt a sticky substance there. Blood. . . ._

_Immediately he flipped on the light switch, noticing that blood also had dripped on the edge of his desk, parts of the carpet, and that it was decorating the knob of his bathroom door. Without stopping to think, he went over and yanked on the knob, having trouble getting a firm hold because of the substance coating the smooth and glossy material. But at last he managed to turn it and stepped inside, leaving the door half-open behind him._

_The first thing he noticed was the sink in front of him. Blood was on it as well, and on the taps. He could see that the towel that hung by the mirror had been taken away, and as he looked around worriedly, he saw Gin sitting on the floor by the small linen closet, holding the towel over his wrist. Alarm bells went off in Vodka's mind when he remembered the nightmares that had been plaguing him, and he hurried over, bending down in front of his partner._

_"Bro?" he cried in shock, gripping at Gin's shoulder._

_Gin jerked violently, crying out in a panicked way. He looked at Vodka with wild eyes, and Vodka drew back when he saw the fear in those green orbs. This was not what he needed to come back to, after what he had just witnessed with Chardonnay and Sake. But of course it was not Gin's fault, and Vodka would have to swallow his distress and try to deal with it._

_"Bro, what happened?" Vodka tried again, lowering his voice to more normal tones. Gin did not answer, continuing to stare at Vodka the same way he had done when Vodka had pinned him to the floor earlier that day. Vodka tried to block that look from his mind, even though he knew such a thing was impossible. He could never ignore or forget it. His voice dropped again. "Bro, it's just me. Remember? It's Vodka. . . ."_

_Gin shook his head emphatically. "You're dead," he answered, his voice strained. "You're dead. I killed you. . . ." He shuddered, still clutching his wounded wrist, and started to attempt to get up and go around Vodka._

_The heavyset man stared at him, at a loss for words. He knew that Gin must be talking about something that had happened when Portman had been torturing him, but that only made Vodka feel more disturbed. As Gin struggled to get up, Vodka reached out and gently grabbed the other's shoulders, almost without thinking. "Bro, it really is me," he protested quietly, trying desperately to keep his emotions under control. It was so hard, and it had only gotten increasingly difficult with each passing hour. Every time Gin went into one of these conditions, Vodka ended up even more bewildered over how to handle it then he had been previously. "Gin, I'm not dead! It's in your mind!"_

_His voise rose in panic as Gin cried out again, struggling against him and managing to deliver a painful kick at least twice. Then suddenly, the battle stopped. It took a moment for Vodka to process this, but when he finally looked down at the blonde, he saw that Gin had wearily gone limp in his arms. The stout man swallowed hard. "Gin . . ." he murmured, suddenly unsure of what to do. This was not right._

_Slowly Gin pushed himself back, blinking as he focused on Vodka. Then he slumped against the wall again, an expression of anger and frustration twisting his features._

Again Vodka returned to the present, hearing Gin's words echo in his mind again. _"Don't look at me like that."_ Gin was upset again, and shamed, but now there was also even more of a desperate look in his eyes. Vodka did not know at all whether Gin would close himself off again or whether he would suddenly attack---or if he would do something else entirely. Finally he dared to speak again.

"Gin. . . ."

Gin started and looked up at him, as if he had forgotten that Vodka was truly there. Then he looked down at his wrist, gripping the cloth over the wound. Vodka could see blood staining the towel, as well as Gin faintly trembling---though he did not know whether it was from the injury or something he was haunted by in his mind. But from Gin's actions, Vodka guessed that it was both.

"Bro, what happened?" Vodka demanded worriedly.

"It won't stop bleeding," Gin growled.

Hesitantly Vodka reached for the other's wrist, wanting to examine whatever wound the other had sustained. "Is . . . the vein cut?" he asked after a moment, still having to wonder if Gin had inflicted the injury deliberately. He shuddered subconsciously as he remembered Chardonnay's and Sake's behavior, and he wished that he had not gone to see them. The only positive side, he thought, was if he could tell about how they were being treated and if it would help Aoshi's practices to be stopped.

"I don't think so," Gin answered, at last letting Vodka take hold of his wrist and gently unwrap the cloth.

Vodka winced as he saw the way Gin's skin was punctured. It looked as though it could have been done by a knife, but he still wanted to give the other the benefit of the doubt, considering both Gin's personality and the fact that Vodka had not seen a knife anywhere. "How did you cut it, bro?" he wanted to know, as he examined it in concern. It looked as though Gin was right, and the vein had not been affected, which Vodka was relieved about. It seemed to just be bleeding too much, as wounds sometimes do, though that could still be life-threatening if it continued.

"I didn't cut it," Gin grunted, seeming to gather what Vodka was concerned about. "I was looking for you, and I couldn't see what I was doing in your room. I hit something while I was looking for the light switch and I lost my balance." He watched Vodka replace the cloth and hold Gin's arm up again in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. "Your metal desk ended up causing this damage. I caught myself on one of its sharp corners." He gave his partner a searching look. "Where were you?"

Vodka could not help feeling guilty. "I . . . I went to see Chardonnay and Sake," he answered finally. "I thought I'd be back before you woke up. . . ."

Gin looked away, not willing to admit that in his solitude, he had considered the possibility that Portman still had him and had killed Vodka, even though he honestly knew that he was now safe. "What's happening to them?" he asked then, his voice nearly a mumble.

Vodka suddenly did not know how to answer. Gin knew as well as Vodka did what Aoshi did to those he had under his supervision. But Vodka found that it was not easy to describe the torture he had just witnessed. He did not even want to keep thinking about it. "They're . . . not getting better," he admitted quietly. "And Aoshi and his aides aren't helping. One of them was beating and kicking Sake. . . ."

A flicker of pain went through Gin's eyes, and Vodka doubted it was because of the wound. The blonde gazed off at a point beyond Vodka, as if lost in another world. He had done that a lot over the past day and night, and it was haunting. Vodka desperately wished that Gin would come back, as he wished every time when he could tell that he was losing the other. Sometimes Gin would stay lost in his other world for so long that he would seem to have slipped into a complete trance-like state, from which he would only return after repeated pleadings from Vodka---or from a shock in whatever waking nightmare he was having.

This time Gin came out of it on his own, though once he spoke, Vodka was sickened in a way he had not thought possible.

"They used to beat me," Gin muttered, still staring ahead at the wall. "They would beat me until I couldn't even move. . . . And if I tried, voluntarily or not, I was beaten again." He shuddered, and Vodka could see the horror in Gin's eyes, as well as the hate. Vodka found that those same feelings were in his own heart. To think of his partner being treated in such an inhuman, cruel way. . . . Vodka willed the new mental images he was gaining to stay back.

"Sometimes I would be shocked if I touched a doorknob. . . . And when that happened, there was usually a needle with a drug in it, as well. . . ." Gin did not even know why he was saying any of these things. He had wanted to keep them locked up, to never speak of them, to forget them completely. But he could never push them out of his mind. Almost without realizing it, his subconscious desire to tell someone he trusted about some of his pain had spilled over. The relatively small yet irritating injury he had just received had reminded him of one of the delusional scenarios he had crafted in his mind, with Portman's encouragement, and that remembrance had in turn brought much more of his anguish to the forefront.

Vodka swallowed hard, not even able to imagine the extent of what Gin had suffered. And when he recalled how Gin had said earlier that he had sometimes called for Vodka, but Vodka had not come, he felt all the worse. To think of Gin being that helpless and broken---laying on the floor in agony, weakly moaning for Vodka to get him out of there. . . . Vodka shook his head, not able to bear thinking of it any longer. Even though it was useless to berate what was, Vodka could not stop himself from doing so. He wished that he would have been able to have found his partner sooner. He wished that he could have prevented Gin's pain.

"I used to wonder sometimes if I would wake up again when I could feel myself sinking into unconsciousness," Gin remarked, finally turning his haunted gaze to his partner. "Sometimes I almost wished I wouldn't. . . ." Vodka could see some of the emptiness returning to the blonde's green eyes, and he wanted to make it go away, but he knew he could not. He wondered if anything could. If there was something, Vodka wished that he could know of its existence. Gin needed help so badly, and he needed it right away. Vodka again did not feel that he was qualified at all to be doing this. It was something that should be handled by a doctor. But Gin would not let doctors near him, and anyway, the only doctor assigned to these cases was Aoshi, as they knew all too well.

"It was usual to see that some of the other prisoners had killed themselves," Gin continued. "I always resolved to be stronger. . . . When I had the chance to finally get back at the men who had been tormenting me, I took it." His eyes narrowed. "It's not any secret that I killed several of them. Chardonnay and Sake did, as well. And neither of them had ever killed anyone before that. They were driven to it because of what they were put through. Though I would say it was self-defense, and completely justified." He growled. "After what was done to us, they would have to be fools to think that we wouldn't fight back."

Vodka swallowed hard. It was hard for him to imagine Chardonnay ending anyone's life, no matter the reason. But the Chardonnay whom he had tried desperately to restrain such a short time ago was not the same person he had once known. She had nearly killed Vodka in her crazed state. Everyone retrieved from Portman's base had been badly scarred, and Vodka still had to wonder if any of them would ever be anything like the people he used to know. The fact that Gin was telling him these things at all worried him even more. Vodka knew that it meant his partner was feeling especially desperate. And the only thing Vodka knew to do was to listen, and to attempt to reassure the other.

"You know . . . that nothing like that will happen to you now, don't you, bro?" the heavyset man asked quietly. "Aoshi won't get you. . . ."

Gin looked at him. "Of course he won't," he grunted, "because I won't go through what I did again. I'd kill him."

Vodka did not doubt it. But he also knew that Aoshi would have to contend with more than Gin, if he tried again to take the blonde captive. Vodka would never stand for it. He would fight Aoshi to the death, if it came to that.

Slowly he removed the towel again to check the wound. "The bleeding's stopped," he reported hesitantly, "but I don't know, Gin . . . maybe you should get this stitched up. . . . It looks kinda deep. . . ." He knew that Gin would not like the suggestion at all---not that Vodka blamed him. But if they went to the elderly doctor, he would treat Gin with kindness.

Gin growled, jerking away. "It's fine," he snapped. "Just bring me the first aid kit and I'll take care of it." Anything was better than going back to the infirmary. He would not! He would be perfectly happy if he never saw another doctor. He would stay here, where he would be safe.

Vodka sighed softly. There would not be any reasoning with Gin at this point. In addition to his understandable paranoia about physicians, he had been starting to grow increasingly irritable, as well, and Vodka had the feeling that Gin would only become more so as further time went by. He supposed that it was one of the ways the blonde had of coping with what had happened to him.

He got up, opening the medicine cabinet and getting out the first aid kit. "You won't be able to manage that by yourself, bro," he pointed out, much to Gin's annoyance. After freshly washing his hands, Vodka took one of the disinfectant pads and brought it over, dabbing it over the injury. Gin watched him, not trying to pull away, but also not looking happy about being assisted. He was much too independent, though Vodka found his partner's obvious annoyance to be a relief, especially after the things Gin had just told, and the way he had behaved. The irritation showed more of a return to the cold, harsh Gin that Vodka knew and wanted to have back.

Setting aside the wipe, Vodka got out the gauze and cut a long enough strip to wrap around Gin's wrist several times. Gently he did this, and Gin nodded slowly in acknowledgement when Vodka was done. He pulled his wrist back, using his uninjured hand to pull himself to his feet. Slowly he shuffled to the sink, awkwardly washing the blood off of that hand before heading to the door and slipping back out into the bedroom.

Vodka followed after a moment, wondering what Gin had in mind. He partially wanted to ask if the other was okay, but that seemed pointless. Of course Gin was not okay. He was not anywhere near okay, and asking would seem like a mockery especially in light of what Vodka now knew had been part of what had happened to him. And Vodka knew that Gin had probably only revealed the figurative tip of the iceberg about what Portman had done.

Gin ended up back in the living room, where he slumped into one of the chairs and lit a cigarette. His hands shook slightly, and when Vodka noticed, he had the feeling that it was not from physical pain. The haunted look in his eyes was back as well, and it seemed more pronounced, as if he was recalling something even more horrific than what he had even told. But Vodka doubted that Gin was going to share anything more about his experiences. With a soft sigh, the heavyset man sank into the other chair, lighting a cigarette as well. They smoked in silence.

* * *

_Gin was attempting to drag himself onto his bed to rest, but he could not seem to manage very easily. There was a sharp pain in his side, and several times he had coughed and tasted blood in his mouth. He had to wonder if he had been injured internally, which would not surprise him. As before, they had allowed him a few days in which to heal before attacking him again, and once again he could scarcely move at all. He hissed in pain as he reached for the edge of the bed with one hand. He always felt somewhat better after resting for a while, but right now he did not know if he could even struggle onto the mattress. He might have to simply lay on the floor, which he was tired of doing._

_He blinked, trying to rid himself of the various shapes and colors that were stubbornly disturbing his vision. They would not go away, and if anything, their effect was only increasing. He slumped against the side of the mattress, resting his head against it as he closed his eyes momentarily. It seemed so pointless to even try anymore. What good did it do? He would never be free. Portman was making sure of that. He felt so drained, so weary and despondent, and part of him felt detached, as if he was viewing everything from outside his body. But then the pain and the sickness would remind him that No, he was very much still in this miserable world, and able to feel everything that was done to him---every blow, every kick, every knife and every whip that pierced his flesh._

_He came to attention when he heard the door opening again, and he whirled around to see one of his attackers coming back into the room, brandishing a whip. Gin would have had a struggle being able to defeat this person even if he was healthy and fully able to fight, despite the fact that this man was there by himself. He had close to the same build as Vodka did, coupled with Gin's height. He had been one of Gin's main attackers from the beginning, and Gin hated him. Gin had already given him several injuries during the previous beating, when the blonde had been struggling so desperately to defend himself. Now the intruder was smirking in a wicked way and had a treacherous gleam in his eye that made Gin suspicious and tense._

_"Well," he purred as he shut the door behind him, "now it's just the two of us. You're not looking so well, Blondie." He cracked the whip, and Gin ducked as it flew over his head._

_The green-eyed man wondered if he was about to be beaten again. It seemed likely. He gripped a handful of the quilt, his knuckles turning white. In his current condition, it was tempting to simply submit to the pain, as he had finally been forced to more than once. He was so weakened and weary, but still, when there was apparently only one opponent, a part of him refused to simply lay down and accept what would come. And yet he did not know how he could gather enough strength to stand. He felt as if his legs had simply crumpled underneath him and that they were stubbornly refusing to even consider straightening out again._

_When he looked into the other's eyes, however, what he saw there disturbed him enough that he fully came back into the current situation with a start. Had he seen correctly? He looked again, subconsciously drawing back at his realization. His heart started to race faster. There was not bloodlust in the other man's eyes and smirk, not this time. Gin had seen that many times and would not be uneasy about it. This was something much more dark and twisted and sinister. Gin had never had such an expression directed towards him before, and as the smirk widened, Gin began to feel a mixture of emotions---a sense of indignant outrage at the forefront, as well as a wave of panic that he tried to push back. He struggled harder to stand. As long as he was down, he was much more vulnerable. He had to get up . . . he had to. . . ._

_Again the whip cracked, wrapping around his arm. Gin growled in pain as a sharp tug was given, intended to throw him off-balance. Desperately he grabbed at the bed's headboard, resisting his attacker's pulls on the weapon. He hissed as he felt the edges of the whip cut into his upper arm._

_"Let me go," he snapped darkly. Gathering his bearings with all of his might, he planted his feet firmly on the short carpet and slowly let go of the headboard. Throwing all of his weight into his actions, he grabbed at the whip with his other hand and held on tightly. He felt it dig into his palm as he pulled on it, but he did not care. He had to get away from this person at all costs._

_The other man, who had shaggy, shoulder-length brown hair and a scar down his left cheek, growled in annoyance when Gin nearly managed to yank the whip out of his hand. He had not expected the blonde to have such a strong grip after what he had been through. After all, the assassin looked as though he was already ready to drop. It was amazing that he had managed to stand up at all. But then the brunet grinned, tightening his grasp on the handle. "This will be more of a challenge than I thought," he remarked, stepping closer. "I've been underestimating you from the beginning."_

_The glint in his eyes only became all the more pronounced. He had been wanting all along for this chance to come, this opportunity to go after Gin while they were alone. The blonde was different from most all of Portman's prisoners, and he was fascinated and intrigued. He wanted to know more. He wanted to force Gin to submit to him. At this point, it would not take much to ensure it would happen. Gin could not stand for much longer, nor could he continue to play his games. It would all come to an end now. He would give in to his temptations, and he would see that Gin did as well._

_But Gin looked at him with disgust. "I'll be dead before you can do what you want," he answered coldly. He could sense the other's feelings and desires only growing stronger, and he clenched a fist in fury. Was there not any way out of this? The door was barred, and it was the only escape route. If he tried to lock himself in the bathroom, most likely he would only make things worse. This person would either break the door down, or else leave and come back another time, and Gin would end up stabbed with a needle in the doorknob when he would try to get out. He had to deal with the problem now, and solve it. He could not run away._

_"But that wouldn't be any fun," the brunet responded. "Anyway, you can't tell me you don't purposely try to tempt people. Look at this hair, for one thing." He reached out to take a handful of it, and Gin jerked out of his way, his lip curling in revulsion. He wore his hair long solely because he liked that, but he did not have to explain anything about himself to this lech._

_"You have a one-track mind," the wounded man growled darkly._

_"Yes, I've been told that," was the smooth answer. "I don't care."_

_They stood looking at each other for a long moment, as if sizing up each other's strengths and weaknesses. Then, without warning, the other lunged, in hopes of catching Gin off-guard and pinning him to the bed. Gin dove out of the way, still pulling on the whip. He veered sharply to the right, punching his opponent as hard as he could manage. The broader man stumbled back, briefly dazed, and Gin used the opportunity to finally tug the whip free and half-run, half-limp to the door._

_Before he could reach it, he was abruptly tackled and brought to the floor. "This time you're not getting away," his assailant declared, muttering something obscene under his breath. He reached out, running a hand down Gin's cheek. His touch felt cold and sick and slimy, and the assassin froze before trying to pull away._

_"Oh, don't play games," came the disgusting voice. "Aren't you ready to settle down yet? No matter what you try, it's pointless." He laid his hand underneath Gin's jaw, moving his fingers across it in a slow, deliberate manner._

_Immediately Gin lashed out, wrenching the hand free with as much force as he could muster. When he saw it coming at him again, he slapped it away viciously, pouring all of his hatred and his revulsion into the action. The only response he received was a deep chuckle, dripping with carnal feelings._

_He realized then that he was actually shaking, but he was not certain whether it was from anger or loathing, or both. He refused to consider that he might also be afraid. He could not be afraid. He had never feared when facing his opponents. He had always stepped up to the challenges and completed them with ease. It was true that he had never before dealt with someone who directed sickening, lustful feelings towards him, but this was just another kind of battle. There was not a reason to be afraid of it, or him. He was pathetic, someone whom Gin could so easily get rid of, if he had his gun. . . ._

_But he did not have it. He did not have any means of fighting back, as long as he was being held down on his stomach. He had to get up. He had to find some way to at least turn around. . . ._

_He felt the cold touch on him once again, coming to rest on his bare shoulder. "It would be so much easier for you if you just stopped resisting," the creature growled. "Just admit to yourself the truth."_

_"What truth?" Gin snarled, again reaching up to bat the hand away._

_"The truth that you want this," was the reply._

_Gin was silent for a long moment as he digested these words. Finally he spoke again. "You make me feel sick," he hissed coldly. This was the last thing he wanted. He had never wanted anything of the kind. He was not that sort of person. He felt the same sense of disgust that he had upon awakening to discover a strange woman kneeling beside him in his bed, wanting the caresses, the affection, the kisses, the love, that could only be bestowed upon one person. One person whom he would never have with him again. . . ._

_"I do? Why don't we find out what else I can make you feel."_

_Gin fought against him furiously, the panic rising again when he felt the other trying to rip away what was left of his clothes. He thrashed about, not allowing the other to keep his grip on the threadbare remains of his shirt and pants. He could still not turn over, as his captor was sitting on his legs, but he vainly attempted it anyway, only to be viciously slammed back into the floor. He could feel that his heart was racing wildly. There was no escape . . . no escape. . . ._

_Remembering that he was still holding the whip, he reached up over his head, cracking the weapon and trying to catch the brunet's wrists. He heard a hiss of pain and then felt his hair being grabbed and pulled violently before it was sent flying around him._

_"Don't think you can do anything against me," came the dark and twisted voice. "You're too weak to fight me successfully. But who knows. Maybe you'll like this, inspite of what you say." He chuckled._

_His words only made Gin even angrier and more panic-stricken. He would not lose this battle. He twisted his upper body about as far as he could, gasping as it made his side ache all the more. Struggling to ignore it, he grabbed the brunet's throat viciously with one hand and began to squeeze. He would do whatever it took to keep this man away from him. And if he was occupied trying to stay alive, he would not be able to do anything else._

_The eyes widened and he took hold of Gin's wrist firmly, struggling to pry it free. Gin only squeezed tighter, trying to ease out his own body and figuratively turn the tables, pinning his attacker to the floor. As the other started to back up, growing more desperate to get the grip loosened, Gin found that he could get free. He started to move to restrain the other, but was suddenly kicked in the stomach. Gasping, his concentration was momentarily shaken, and he was suddenly thrown against the wall._

_Before the dazed and badly injured man could try getting up again, the brunet was upon him once more, taking hold of Gin's pants. His lips twisted in a revolting smirk as he reached to undo the top button._

_Instantly the blonde retaliated, cracking the whip and using it to wrap around the thick neck. He pulled tightly and the other gasped in pain, reaching up desperately to release the pressure. But Gin refused to let go._

_He forced himself to sit up, pulling harder. The only thought in his mind now was that he had to kill this person. That was the only way to escape what would happen otherwise. And his hatred had spilled over. He would not be treated in this way, as someone's plaything. He would not play Portman's games, and he would not lay down and give in to this monster's lust, no matter how weakened he was. He would not, he would not. . . ._

_At last the creature slumped to the floor, dead. Gin fell back, breathing heavily as he slowly let go of the whip. He was safe, at least for now. This beast would not bother him again. There would be Hell to pay for killing one of Portman's lackeys, but right now he did not care._

_He coughed harder, holding a hand to his side as a wave of dizziness swept over him. As the adrenaline rush passed, he was left feeling extremely weak and sick, and he soon found darkness blanketing him._

_He was all too correct about the punishment for his actions. It was not long before some of the other thugs found him in his semi-conscious condition and pulled him up, yelling obscenities and cursing. Groaning, he tried to force his eyes open, but he could only wrestle them halfway. He was being held up by two men, and his first impulse was to desperately pull away. How did he know that they would not try to do the same thing to him? Perhaps they had all decided that they would not torture him solely through methods of beating._

_But he was suddenly slapped violently across the face and he staggered back, his bare feet tripping over the shoes of the ones restraining his arms. Shuddering and spitting blood from his mouth, he tried to look up._

_The one who had struck him grabbed him under the chin, but in a vicious and hateful manner as he forced Gin's head upward to look into his flaming eyes. "So," he said in a dark tone, "you think you can get away with what you've done? Do you?" He gave the blonde a harsh shake, and the green eyes widened in pain. "You'll suffer for this," the thug vowed, "and by the time we're finished, you really won't be able to move at all, and you'll never be able to commit another atrocity like this!"_

_Gin gave a weak growl, but he did not even have a chance to retort before the two who were holding onto him suddenly and viciously threw his body into the wall. He hit it hard, gasping in pain, and he felt himself leaving a trail of blood on the wood as he slid down to the floor, unable to stand at all. He was quickly surrounded, and for the third time within the past several hours, he was cruelly and mercilessly beaten._

_He did not know whether this time it actually was worse, or if it only seemed that way because he was already hurt nearly to the point of not being able to endure it any longer. But every time he was struck by a fist or a foot, and every time a weapon viciously came in contact with his poor body or was driven into his flesh, the pain seemed far worse than it ever had before. He wanted to detach himself from it, he wanted to slip into unconsciousness, but something was keeping him awake, forcing him to suffer. He acutely felt every blow that was laid upon him._

_The thugs laughed, spitting and hooting and screaming obscenities every time Gin jerked in agony, moaning and coughing up blood. Only one or two actually cared about the death of their comrade. It was just an excuse for them to attack Portman's pet subject all the more. They wanted to see him completely broken, unable and unwilling to do anything against them. Several times they had gotten him nearly to that point, but when he started to recover, his stubbornness and his fighting spirit would start to return once more. They did not want to see it happen again. They did not want to be the next ones to die if he or another test subject finally retaliated._

_Gin was barely aware of when they actually stopped beating him. The pain was still shooting throughout his limp form with such insistence that he could not register the fact that he was no longer being hit and kicked. Weakly he tried to move his hand across the floor, but he found that he could not even manage that simple task. He looked and felt half-dead. He was bleeding from several wounds of varying seriousness over his arms, chest, and back, and his left leg was badly bruised. Blood dripped down his face, but he did not even consciously realize that fact, or that his right eye was swollen shut. His hair, matted and tangled, and also sporting unceremonious patches of crimson, was spread out around him. He coughed, again tasting copper in his mouth. His spirit, as well as his body, was broken._

_"Vodka," he moaned in delirium, blankly gazing out at the empty and darkened room, "get me out of here. . . ." He was not consciously aware of his words, but at this point, he would not have cared even if he had realized what he was saying aloud. No one would hear him, least of all the one who could rescue him from this Hell.  
_

* * *

_Vodka gave a soft sigh as he entered the bar on the site of the Tokyo base. It was annoyingly loud, as usual, and he weaved around tables and people until he reached the back and sank into the corner booth that he and Gin had always used. It felt depressing, and wrong, to come here alone. Vodka was very conscious of the empty space across from him. He found himself wondering if it would ever be filled again, but then he glowered, trying to push such thoughts out of his mind. Gin would be back. He would be found safe and things would go back to normal._

_He had returned to Tokyo five days ago, and since then he had been diligently continuing the search for whatever information on Portman he could find. He had discovered several locations that she had previously used as the sites of her bases, but they were all abandoned now. He still remembered the horror he had felt as he had looked through them, discovering blood splattered on walls, the floor, and over various items of furniture. He had tried not to wonder if some of the life substance could belong to Gin, but it was impossible to not consider the thought. Gin could have been at any of those locations and now be gone, and Vodka would have an almost impossible task to find him again._

_He knew that it would not help, to be pessimistic, but as Gin had told him once, pessimism was only realism. Vodka had found that he had to agree. Idealistic people were the ones who always had their hopes shattered, while realistic people did not have hopes in the first place. And yet . . . was it really realistic to think that he would even get Gin back? Maybe he was already dead. But no . . . if some of Portman's victims had lasted as long as he had heard, then Gin could certainly still be alive as well. He was so strong-willed, and even in the face of so much torment, he would struggle to live. He might come back battered and scarred, but he would be back. And Vodka had to convince himself that such a thought was realistic, that it would happen._

_He sighed softly, leaning against the back of the booth._

_"Hey, Vodka. . . . It's good to see you back." _

_He started and looked up, hearing the waitress's voice. She was smiling at him in a gentle manner, the same sort of way that Chardonnay always had, before her disappearance. It was a friendly smile, one that generally did not make him nervous or edgy. But tonight he did not feel like even talking to her. He was so tired and worn-out from the failing search, and he really just wanted a quick drink before going back to the lonely suite to rest._

_He swallowed, but nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. . . ." His gaze drifted around the room uncomfortably, not knowing what to say._

_She understood. "I know. . . . I miss Gin, too," she said quietly. "But hey, I'm sure you'll find him. If anyone can find him, you can." She was quite fond of the shy operative, knowing that he was loyal and devoted to his partner. She felt sorry for him now that he was all alone, and she wondered how long the higher-ups would allow Vodka to be on his own before assigning him to a temporary or permanent replacement. If there was ever any seeming proof that Gin was dead, then Vodka would definitely be forced to accept a new partner. And somehow she did not think that he would be able to. He had grown so close to the aloof blonde. To be assigned to someone else would only dishearten him._

_Quickly she changed the subject now, sensing Vodka's discomfort with the topic. "The usual?" she asked, receiving a swift nod in reply. "I'll be right back," she told him, and he watched her walk away through the crowds and around the tables._

_He sighed softly, reaching into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes and the lighter. As he placed one of the objects in his mouth and applied the flame, he suddenly realized that he had again wound up in the booth right next to the three agents who were fond of gossiping. Amid the noise of the current song and the other people talking, he could hear their familiar voices. He slammed the lighter shut, feeling frustrated. He always hated listening to those three, especially since he and Gin were among their favorite topics. And right now Gin's disappearance was one of the most talked-about subjects on the base, along with Chardonnay's and Sake's._

_"His partner's been checking into the exploits of that mad scientist Alice Portman," the first one was announcing._

_"So he thinks that nutcase might be responsible?" mused the second._

_"I've heard she's brilliant," remarked the third._

_Vodka glowered. Being skilled in ways to successfully break the human mind and soul was not what he considered "brilliant." When he had gone to the base director and posed the idea of Portman being behind the agents' disappearances, he had been told that it was already being looked into and considered. He had also been told a few details of the things that Portman's victims were rumored to go through, and he was still in horror over the information. What she apparently did was worse than even what happened in most of the Black Organization's "interrogation" sessions._

_"Oh yeah, she's brilliant," the second rejoined, "in making people go crazy. Can you imagine what would happen if that happened to Chardonnay or Sake, or especially Gin?"_

_"Gin's scary enough when he's sane," the first commented._

_Vodka did have to smirk weakly. That could certainly be true. He had feared the blonde many a time, and even recently he had felt uneasy on some occasions. But after all that they had been through together, he did have to feel that he was not in any real danger from his partner. Gin could get furious, and every now and then he seemed to like scaring Vodka. The poor man still shuddered when recalling the incident in the locker room. But Vodka had also come to feel that, at least where he himself was concerned, Gin's figurative bark was much worse than his bite. Gin would not actually hurt him._

_Though Vodka could not say what would happen if Gin was out of his mind. He did not even want to think about it. The base director had warned Vodka that Gin very well might not be the same person Vodka had known, but Vodka was not willing to accept that. Gin would not change. He would be able to resist whatever was done to him. Still, Vodka could not entirely push away all of his fears._

_He was startled out of his thoughts when the waitress came back, setting the shot glass on the table. He nodded weakly. "Thanks," he mumbled, reaching for it._

_"No problem," she smiled, half-turning to go to another table. "Just let me know if you want anything else."_

What I want is something you can't bring me,_ he thought wistfully as he slowly sipped the liquor. He wanted his partner back. And he wanted Gin to be fine, not in some terrible condition from which he would likely never recover._

_He could not help hearing as the conversation progressed in the next booth._

_"I've heard that a lot of crazy things go on at Portman's laboratories," the third was saying. "She develops some kind of weird drugs that she uses on her experiments . . . hallucinogens or something like that, making them see their worst fears and to think they're being beaten."_

_"It's not just in their minds," the second replied. "After a while, they really are beaten. Some of her victims come away with physical injuries that never heal."_

_Vodka gripped the glass tighter, his hand shaking. Was that what would happen to Gin? Maybe he would never be able to walk again, or speak, or maybe he would not even have any memory of Vodka._

_"I don't doubt it," said the first, "but with her, it's mostly about the mental torture. Most people who end up taken by her and her associates never recover from whatever nightmares they're put through because of how their minds are damaged. Some of them regress to childlike or even animalistic behavior."_

_"I know," the second replied flatly. "They're prone to attack anyone who approaches them, even if it's someone who doesn't mean them harm." A pause as he took a drink. "But then, you really can't blame them, after what they suffer."_

_"I've heard even worse things," the third spoke up now. Vodka wondered if he dared to listen, and yet he found that he could not block them out._

_"About some of the captors' . . . tastes?" the second answered, already having an idea of where this discussion was going._

_"That's right," the third confirmed slowly. "Some of the victims talk about how they were attacked in . . . other ways. They say that, in varying degrees, they were violated."_

_In his alarm and shock, Vodka nearly spit out the rest of the drink. Instead he ended up swallowing it all down at once, and soon dissolved into a coughing fit. The trio ceased their conversation momentarily, as if they realized they had been overheard, but they soon continued when Vodka managed to pour himself a glass of water and quiet himself._

_Vodka was not listening to them now. He slumped back against the booth again, feeling shaken. He had not even ever considered that possibility. Cruel experimentation and being harshly beaten was bad enough, but . . . _this_ as well? Gin would never stand for such a thing to happen to him, but . . . if he was beaten so badly that he could not move, what choice would he have? If he was cornered by someone healthy and much stronger, would he be able to resist at all? He might be overpowered and forced into it._

_Vodka did not want to think about it. Frantically he tried to block out the images that were now swirling through his mind and would not cease. He felt ill, and as he slid out of the booth he was aware somewhere in his mind that he had knocked over the centerpiece on the table. He badly wanted to simply ignore it, but he watched as an observer as he turned back and fumbled with the object, finally getting it upright. Then he quickly fled the bar completely before he could hear any more of what was being done to Portman's prisoners. He could not bear to hear any more.  
_

* * *

Vodka came back to the present, casting a worried glance back at his blonde comrade. Gin had been silent all this time, but the reason for it was not just because he was so shaken and had nothing to say. At some point, he had fallen asleep. He was slumped in the chair, his head against the side of it. His bangs completely covered his closed green eyes, and several locks of his generous hair had slipped over his shoulder. Despite being quiet and still, he did not seem to be at peace. At least, Vodka did not think so. Gin looked uneasy, as if he could not escape even in slumber.

The stout man shuddered as he recalled the alarming conversation from the bar. He had never forgotten it, but in his desperation to believe that what was talked of last was not something that would happen to Gin, he had pushed it from the forefront of his mind. It was something he refused to consider.

The doctors had not, however. After Gin had been unfairly rendered unconscious by Aoshi, he had been examined for many different kinds of injuries and maltreatment, including that. In addition to the rumors about what some of Portman's men did, it was a precaution they had wanted to take in general. And they had not found any indication that he had suffered such an abominable experience, much to Vodka's relief.

He supposed that it did not mean that someone might not have tried and then failed. If Gin had been at all able, he would have fought such a thing tooth and nail and prevented it from happening. But Vodka did not want to think that someone would have been so twisted as to even try in the first place. He could not stand to think of Gin going through an experience like that, whether or not the person succeeded in what they were trying to do.

He started when his cellphone rang. Quickly he grabbed and opened it before it could wake Gin, and as before, he went back into his room to converse. He had seen on the caller ID that it was Vermouth, and he found that he was not looking forward to this. He had already spoken to her twice that day, and by now he was so weary from everything. It suddenly dawned on him that he had not even eaten any dinner yet.

"Hello?" he mumbled.

"Vodka, you sound completely beat," Vermouth commented in her typical, gently lighthearted voice. Vodka noticed, however, that tonight there was a hint of genuine concern in her tone.

He sighed softly. He had never been in the habit of pouring out his soul to anyone, least of all Vermouth. He had always been quiet, not wanting to bother anyone with his problems, whereas Gin's aloof characteristics were mostly because of his pride. But in any case, Vodka did not feel comfortable talking to Vermouth about what was happening right now, or his current fears. Gin certainly would never forgive him if Vodka spoke of the latter and Gin learned of it later. Vodka still regretted telling Vermouth about the problem from earlier.

"I went to see Chardonnay and Sake," he announced at last, hoping to change the subject. And surely Vermouth, being the mysterious boss's favorite, would be able to do something for them, or to ensure that the base director would do something. She would naturally have more power over the situation than a lower-ranked agent like Vodka would.

"Well, that would certainly be enough to wear you down, in addition to dealing with poor Gin," Vermouth answered, and then paused. "I went to have a look at them too. Sake was laying on the floor. She looked pretty bad off." Her voice had turned completely serious. "Chardonnay had finally come out of her corner, trying to shake her awake."

Vodka gasped, suddenly feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He had not thought that Sake would be beaten that badly. It sounded to him that Aoshi's men were just as bad as Portman's. And he wondered if he should have tried to do something more. He would have gone into the room if he had been able to, but it had been locked, and the metal door would not have been something he could have forced open. The elderly doctor had promised that he would do something, and Vodka wondered if he had been able to after all.

"Do you think . . . she'll be okay?" Vodka finally asked hesitantly, feeling deeply concerned. If Sake died, what would happen then? Surely Aoshi would be stopped. But Vodka never wanted things to go that far before it would happen. Sake had been rescued. She and Chardonnay had to be given their fair chances to recover, not tortured even more.

Now Vermouth sighed. "Actually, Vodka, I really don't know," she admitted. "When I got there, they were getting Sake out of that room and going to send her to the ER for treatment. Chardonnay seemed to know that something was wrong. She got up and tried to grab onto the gurney, and they had to hold her back to keep her from following them. It was really sad, actually." But at least they would both be away from Aoshi. Chardonnay was also going into the care of the other medical team, and Vermouth had personally gone to speak to the base director about what was happening. She was determined to see that a halt was brought to Aoshi's actions, and it seemed to her that it should have been done ages ago, before things would have had the chance to go this far.

Vodka shuddered. Gin could have so easily been in Sake's position. If he had not been willing to take care of his partner, Vodka knew that Gin very well probably would have been. Aoshi and his aides would never have been understanding of any of Gin's traumatized behavior. He hated to think what they would have done to the blonde if they had seen him running into a corner or if he had suddenly gone into a violent fury. He could imagine them mercilessly hitting and striking, as had been done to Sake, and Gin fighting back until he could do so no longer, crumpling to the floor in agony. . . .

"So . . . how's Gin?"

Vodka started back to the present. He bit his lip. "Well . . . he's asleep," he replied, also not certain that he wanted to tell about finding Gin in the bathroom with his wrist punctured. "It's been a long day. . . ." He was exhausted himself, and he found himself wishing for sleep. He would much rather lay down instead of worrying about food again. He knew that if he tried to eat, the only thing he would be thinking about would be getting finished quickly so that he could lay down.

"Oh yes, I'm sure of it," Vermouth purred. "But you can be grateful that Gin is with you, even though it's hard." Her voice softened. "Frankly, I'd have to say you're the main thing keeping Gin sane right now. He needs some kind of stability, and you're really the only person he trusts." She knew that he would probably deny it, and that he honestly wondered if he could do anything for Gin. Poor Vodka, he held so little confidence in himself. Vermouth found it necessary to encourage him whenever she could, though she did not know how much good she was actually able to do.

She could hear him shifting about, and she guessed that he was both surprised and uncomfortable by her statements. "I don't know," he said at last.

"If he didn't trust you, he'd fight you tooth and nail to get out of there," Vermouth answered gently. "You know that, don't you?"

"I guess. . . ." Vodka always felt a sense of discomfort when anyone started commenting on the nature of his partnership with Gin. It seemed strange, even wrong, when someone else, especially Vermouth, seemed to think that she knew what was going on even more than Vodka did. Vodka wanted to believe that Gin trusted and cared about him, but even though he sometimes did believe it, he found himself thinking that it seemed almost vain to think that Gin would. Still, Vodka had to admit that he did not think Gin _distrusted_ him, at least not when he was in his normal mind. In his shaken condition, however, Gin did not seem to trust anyone. But Vodka had been the only one to be able to calm him down, several times now.

"You're good for him, Vodka. Trust me." Vermouth smiled softly, leaning back on her bed.

"Okay. . . ." She could still hear the doubtful tone in his voice, as well as the exhaustion.

"Hey, I'll let you go," she told him. "The director said he'll investigate Aoshi tonight and make a decision tomorrow. I'll let you know what he says."

Vodka found himself laying down on his bed. "Okay," he mumbled again. "He'd better plan to do something."

"I'm sure he will. He won't let Aoshi get away with this." Vermouth smirked now. "Kisses," she told Vodka by way of a goodbye.

Vodka flushed crimson as he closed the phone and set it absently on the nightstand. He wished she would not do that.

He sighed, removing his sunglasses as well and then reaching up to loosen his tie. He should get out of his suit before going to sleep, but he was so tired that he was not certain he could even get up again. His mind said yes, but his body said no, and it was winning. And suddenly he remembered that he had not yet cleaned up the blood in the room. Rolling onto his side, he decided to ignore it until he woke up again.


End file.
